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"~  ,— 

^Aavaan- 


"T    0  1^ 


•••J 


MOLLY  AND  KITTY, 


PEASANT  LIFE  IN  IRELAND; 


WITH 


OTHER    TALES. 

TRANSLATED  FROM    THE    GERMAN, 


BO  STON: 

CROSBY,   NICHOLS,   &   CO., 

-.111  YTASFUiTOh  SIMM,   ,  '•  '  >'j    ,'; 
1  856. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

CROSBY,  NICHOLS,  AND  COMPANY, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


* 

CAMBKIDOl: 

irarciu  AXR  &KrXirx,'.8TBKBOTTrBBS  AJCD  pannrao.    .    .  . 


DEDICATION. 


MY  DEAR  ERNEST  :  — 
Although  it  is  highly  improbable  that  your 
junappy  and  sheltered  childhood  and  youth  will 
ever  be  checkered  by  the  struggles  with  for- 
tune and  the  world  painted  in  the  following 
Scenes  from  Life,  yet  I  am  sure  they  cannot 
fail  to  interest  you,  increase  your  sympathy 
with  all  who  suffer,  and  teach  you  to  rejoice 
in  the  well-earned  triumphs  of  uprightness, 
perseverance,  patient  study,  benevolence,  and 
the  forgiveness  of  injuries.  While  reading 
them,  will  you  not  sometimes  bestow  a  kind 
remembrance  upon  your  friend  and  cousin, 

THE  TRANSLATOR. 


484.083 

LIBRARY 


CONTENTS. 


MOLLY   AND   KITTY,   BY   OLGA   ESCHENBACH     .         1 
THE   YOUNG   ARTIST,   BY   MARIA   BURG      ...      93 
BENEVOLENCE   AND  GRATITUDE,   BY   OLGA  ES- 
CHENBACH   239 


PEASANT   LIFE   IN   IRELAND. 


CHAPTER    I. 

IN  one  of  the  most  desolate  regions  of  Ire- 
land, scarcely  ever  visited  even  by  the  most 
inquisitive  traveller  or  the  most  eager  sports- 
man, stood,  nearly  sixty  years  ago,  a  row  of 
low  and  miserable  hovels.  They  were  formed 
of  rough  stones  rudely  piled  together,  and,  at 
a  little  distance,  looked  more  like  the  heaps  of 
stones  which  in  ancient  times  were  thrown 
together  to  mark  the  spot  upon  which  slept 
the  dead,  than  houses  intended  to  shelter  hu- 
man beings.  Upon  a  closer  examination, 
however,  an  observer  might  perceive,  if  the 
mould,  rnoss,  and  mud  did  not  succeed  in 
concealing  them  from  his  searching  glance, 
rude  doors  made  of  un  planed  boards  roughly 
nailed  together,  without  eithelr  latch  or  bolt, 
with  little  holes  irregularly  bored  through 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 


them  to  admit  the  blessed  light  of  heaven, 
which  cheers  the  poor  as  well  as  the  rich, 
within  these  dark  and  miserable  walls.  Not- 
withstanding this  proof,  he  might  still  con- 
tinue to  gaze  on  in  doubt,  asking  his  sinking 
heart  if  it  could  be  indeed  possible  that  the^e 
unformed  masses  of  stone  were  really  intend- 
ed for  homes  for  beings  endowed  with  quick 
susceptibilities,  and  the  godlike  powers  of 
human  reason.  But  as  he  inspected  the 
tottering  roof,  thatched  with  rushes  and  cov- 
ered with  turf,  he  might  observe  heavy  clouds 
of  thick  gray  smoke  curling  and  eddying  from 
a  hole  in  the  top ;  then  his  last  doubt  must 
cease,  and,  breathing  a  deep  sigh  for  the 
wretchedness  surrounding  him,  he  is  forced 
to  confess  that  nowhere  throughout  the  whole 
extent  of  civilized  Europe  are  such  com- 
fortless dwellings  for  men  and  women  to  be 
found. 

Only  those  who  know  something  of  the 
poverty  and  misery  endured  by  the  Irish 
people,  even  at  the  present  date,  when  the 
ardent  friends  of  humanity  have  succeeded 
in  winning  for  this  oppressed  and  injured 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  O 

race  some  of  the  political  rights  hitherto 
denied  them  in  consequence  of  their  obstinate 
adherence  to  the  faith  of  their  ancestors,  can 
form  any  conception  of  the  state  of  utter 
destitution  in  which  they  formerly  lived. 

In  one  of  the  hovels  which  we  have  just 
described,  and  whose  interior  is  if  possible 
more  repulsive  than  its  exterior,  two  forms 
present  themselves  to  our  readers.  The  one 
is  that  of  a  young  maiden  scarcely  sixteen, 
who  kneels  upon  the  earthen  hearth,  close 
beside  a  suspended  kettle.  The  glimmering 
fire,  which  she  now  succeeds  in  stirring  into 
a  bright  flame,  shows  us  a  slender  form,  a 
soft  and  clear  blue  eye,  long,  fair  hair,  and  a 
pale,  pale  face,  whose  features  are  rendered 
strangely  attractive  by  the  deep  melancholy 
imprinted  upon  their  youthful  lines.  Her  left 
arm,  whose  dazzlingly  white  skin  glitters 
through  the  holes  in  the  coarse,  dark,  worn- 
out  garment,  holds  a  child,  who  stretches  one 
of  its  little  meagre  hands  towards  the  cheerful 
blaze,  while  with  the  other  it  tries  to  cover  its 
naked  knees  with  its  short,  torn  frock.  It 
shudders  as  it  finds  all  its  efforts  vain.  Cow- 


D  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

ering  and  sinking  upon  the  shoulder  of  the 
elder,  it  murmurs,  — 

.  "  I  am  so  cold,  Molly !  —  oh !  so,  so  cold, 
Molly!   and  so,  so  hungry!" 

"  Poor  little  Kitty ! "  answered  the  elder 
maiden,  gently,  "  have  patience  only  for  a  few 
minutes  more ;  the  potatoes  in  the  pot  are 
already  beginning  to  boil,  and  on  Sunday  you 
shall  have  something  more  than  potatoes,  for 
father  promised  to  bring  a  little  piece  of  pork 
for  you  home  with  him." 

"  Molly,  won't  he  bring  some  stuff  with  him 
too,  to  make  a  new  frock  for  me',  for  this  one 
is  so  short  that  it  won't  cover  my  legs  ?  He 
promised  me  he  would,  and  father  has  never 
told  a  single  story  to  his  poor  little  blind 
Kitty." 

"  We  will  see  about  that,"  answered  the 
sister,  soothingly ;  yet  in  every  tone  which 
breathed  so  softly  from  the  quivering  lips 
might  be  read  the  secret  of  the  bitter  suffering 
which  she  struggled  to  repress.  "  If  our  father 
really  promised  it  to  you,  he  will  be  sure  to 
keep  his  word.  But  don't  you  remember,  as 
he  was  going  away,  he  called  back  to  you 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  7 

through  the  open  door,  '  If  I  can  possibly  do 
it,  my  little  Kitty ! '  " 

The  child  raised  her  large,  sad  eyes  towards 
the  face  of  her  sister,  while  the  big  tears 
rolled  rapidly  over  her  sunken  cheeks ;  at  last 
she  stammered  through  her  broken  sobs,  — 
"  Are  we,  then,  so  very  poor,  Molly  ?  " 
"  Oh!  very,  very  poor  indeed,  Kitty." 
As  if  to  convince  herself  of  the  truth  of  the 
words  which  she  had  just  uttered,  she  suffered 
her  eyes  to  wander  through  the  miserable 
room  in  which  she  was  seated.  All  they 
owned  in  this  world  stood  in  this  chamber. 
One  corner  of  it  was  separated  from  the  rest 
by  a  partition  of  boards :  the  space  thus  in- 
closed was  intended  either  for  the  pig  or  the 
goat  of  the  family.  She  could  scarcely  see 
through  the  larger  apartment  for  the  thick 
and  blinding  clouds  of  smoke ;  but  she  knew 
where  the  coarse  pine  table  stood,  and  the  low 
wooden  stool.  She  had  herself  spread  a  little 
moss  and  a  few  handfuls  of  reeds  under  the 
wretched  beds,  to  keep  them  as  much  as  pos- 
sible from  becoming  damp  and  mouldy  on 
the  earthen  floor.  There  was  but  little  to 


8  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

count.  Apparently  not  much  consoled  by  the 
consideration  of  their  possessions,  she  turned 
away  her  melancholy  eyes,  and  again  assumed 
her  first  position.  But  the  changing  expres- 
sion of  her  face,  and  the  head,  sometimes 
raised  as  if  in  eager  expectation,  and  some- 
times sinking  as  if  in  despair  upon  her  bosom, 
gave  sufficient  evidence  that  she  was  in  a 
state  of  restless  anxiety.  At  last  she  said  to 
her  little  sister,  who,  apparently  exhausted  by 
her  fit  of  weeping,  was  now  lying  quietly  in 
her  arms,  — 

"  Do  you  hear  nothing,  Kitty  ?  " 
After  a  short  pause,  the  child  answered, — 
"  No ;  I  hear  nothing.     Nothing  at  all ! " 
"  Nor  I,  Kitty ;  and  yet  father  should  have 
been   back   long   ago.       Often    and   often    I 
thought  I  heard  the  sound  of  his  footsteps ; 
but  I  must  have  been  mistaken,  or  he  would 
now  be  here.     It  seems  to  be  growing  dark  al- 
ready.    If  you  would  only  promise  me  not  to 
stir  from  this  spot,  not  to  move  any  closer  to 
the  fire,  I  would  go  a  few  steps  from  the  door, 
and  look  if  I  could  see  him  coming.     I  feel  so 
restless  and  anxious  to-day.     May  the  Holy 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

Virgin  guard  us,  and  keep  any  new  misfor- 
tune from  falling  upon  us ! " 

"  Go,  sister,"  answered  the  little  girl;  "you 
need  not  feel  uneasy  about  me,  for  indeed  I 
will  not  stir  from  this  spot,  in  which  you  have 
put  me,  until  you  come  back.  But,  Molly, 
don't  stay  too  long,  don't  leave  me  too  long 
alone,  because  I  am  so  much  afraid  when 
you  are  not  with  me,  and  when  I  cannot  hear 
your  voice.  I  think  the  angels  that  mother 
used  to  tell  us  so  often  about  must  be  just 
like  you,  Molly,  —  so  kind  and  so  good." 

Touched  by  these  simple  words,  Molly  bent 
down,  pressed  her  lips  upon  the  brow  white 
as  marble  in  its  famished  pallor,  and  said 
softly,  — 

"  God  has  taken  away  from  us  the  mother 
who  loved  us  so  dearly,  and  made  an  angel 
of  her,  because  she  was  so  kind  and  good. 
When  you  are  good,  Kitty,  she  is  glad ;  and 
in  the  blessed  place  in  whiclf  she  now  lives, 
she  feels  her  happiness  redoubled.  So  you 
must  always  be  very  good,  rny  little  sister. 
How  could  it  be  possible  that  you  would  do 
anything  which  would  make  your  mother 


10  MOI.I.Y    AND    KITTY. 

and  sister  feel  sad?  Don't  be  afraid  if  I 
leave  you  for  a  little  while.  Only  think  of 
your  dear  mother,  that  she  is  always  near 
you,  that  she  takes  care  of  you  with  the 
truest  love,  although  even  from  the  very  day 
upon  which  you  were  born  she  was  so  weak 
and  suffered  so  constantly  that  she  could 
scarcely  be  numbered  among  the  living;  and 
I  have  often  spent  whole  nights  upon  my 
knees,  with  the  hot  tears  running  down  my 
cheeks,  praying  the  Merciful  One  to  take  the 
poor  sufferer  we  loved  to  himself,  that  she 
might  rest  with  Him  above.  At  last,  Kitty, 
He  took  her  to  heaven  ! " 

Then  Molly  again  stirred  the  fire,  seated 
her  little  sister  upon  an  old  coverlid,  the  ends 
of  which  she  tenderly  wrapped  round  the 
emaciated,  half-naked  limbs,  and  left  the 
hovel.  The  long  autumn  night  was  already 
falling  upon  the  earth,  and  covered  the  land- 
scape with  itff  dull,  gray  veil ;  the  cheerful 
sky  was  thickly  overcast  with  dusky  clouds, 
which,  constantly  changing  their  fantastic 
forms,  seemed  hunting  each  other  through 
the  vanlted  gloom.  A  rough  north-wind  met 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  11 

poor  Molly  as  she  emerged  from  the  hovel, 
tore  the  heavy  door  out  of  her  slight  hand, 
and  blew  it  with  a  loud  crash  against  the 
wall.  She  shuddered  with  fright,  but,  almost 
immediately  regaining  her  self-possession,  she 
attentively  examined  the  door,  to  ascertain  if 
any  of  the  boards  had  been  broken  in  the 
sudden  jar ;  and  having  soon  convinced  herself 
that  nothing  had  been  injured,  with  consider- 
able effort  she  succeeded  in  rolling  a  heavy 
stone  to  the  door,  to  prevent  the  possibility 
of  the  recurrence  of  a  like  accident.  Then 
she  stooped  to  look  again  at  her  little  sister 
through  one  of  the  holes  which  served  as 
windows  to  the  hut.  Kitty  sat  as  motionless 
as  she  had  promised  to  do,  and  Molly,  appar- 
ently satisfied  that  she  would  continue  to 
do  so,  hastened  forward  upon  a  narrow  foot- 
path, so  little  frequented  that  its  slight  traces 
were  scarcely  distinguishable  in  the  increasing 
gloom.  From  time  to  time  she  stopped,  some- 
times to  look  around  her,  and  listen  anxiously 
for  the  desired  footsteps,  sometimes  to  get 
breath,  for  a.  strong  and  piercing  north-wind 
blew  directly  in  her  face,  and  greatly  increased 


12  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

the  difficulty  of  her  lonely  search.  After  she 
had  struggled  on  for  a  considerable  distance, 
she  thought  she  heard  the  longed-for  sounds; 
and  before  she  had  ventured  to  give  herself 
fully  up  to  the  hope  that  the  so  long  expected 
one  was  indeed  near,  a  tall  form  stood  before 
her,  whom  with  a  loud  cry  of  joy  she  imme- 
diately greeted  as  "  Father !  " 

But  there  was  no  response  given  to  her  joy- 
ful welcome.  In  utter  silence,  the  tall  man 
grasped  the  slight  girl  round  her  slender  waist. 
Almost  carrying  her  forward,  for  her  feet 
scarcely  even  touched  the  ground,  he  reached 
the  entrance  of  his  wretched  dwelling.  With 
a  powerful  kick,  so  that  it  rolled  entirely  over, 
he  tossed  away  the  heavy  stone  from  the 
door,  drew,  or  rather  bore,  his  daughter  into 
the  inside  of  the  now  dimly  lighted  hut, 
rapidly  flung  the  rope  which  was  fastened  to 
the  door  round  a  post  which  seemed  planted 
in  the  floor  for  that  purpose,  and  with  a  few 
strides  stood  directly  in  front  of  the  fire.  He 
then  seized  the  coarse  sack  which  he  had 
carried  upon  his  broad  shoulders,  and  threw 
it  upon  the  ground  with  such  force  that  the 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  13 

child  who  was  lying  near  his  feet,  and  who 
had  probably  been  asleep,  started  up  with  a 
loud  cry  of  fright. 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Kitty,"  said  Molly, 
soothingly,  as  she  threw  a  handful  of  shavings 
into  the  now  sinking  fire ;  "  don't  be  afraid 
now,  for  our  dear  father  is  with  us ;  the  po- 
tatoes are  cooked  enough,  and  you  shall  no 
longer  be  so  very,  very  hungry." 

"  Is  my  father  indeed  here  ?  "  said  the  little 
girl,  at  once  forgetting  both  hunger  and  cold. 
"  Where  are  you,  father  ?  Just  speak  one 
word,  that  your  poor  little  blind  Kitty  may 
know  where  to  find  you.  O,  you  have  been 
away  so  long  to-day !  and  yet  Molly  told  me 
it  was  not  far  to  the  village  to  which  you 
were  going,  and  that  you  had  not  much  to 
do  there." 

But  no  sound  escaped  the  lips  of  the  one 
so  warmly  welcomed.  Motionless  and  with 
folded  arms  he  still  stood  before  the  fire,  dark- 
ly gazing  into  its  cheerful  glow.  His  eldest 
daughter  then  softly  approached  him ;  by  the 
blaze  of  a  lighted  shaving  which  she  held  in 
her  hand,  she  saw  the  expressive  face  of  her 
2 


14  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

father,  with  its  weather-beaten  skin  and  labor- 
,  wrinkled  brow,  and  with  the  deepest  sorrow 
impressed  upon  every  line  of  the  manly  and 
handsome  countenance.  The  tears  which 
were  hanging  upon  his  long  eyelashes,  the 
spasmodic  quivering  which  wreathed  its  tor- 
ture round  his  mouth,  could  not  escape  her 
searching  glance,  rendered  keen  through  the 
power  of  love.  Trembling  before  the  recital 
of  some  new -and  dire  misfortune,  which  she 
felt  he  was  now  about  to  make  to  her,  she 
leaned  her  innocent  head  upon  the  breast  of 
the  beloved  and  true-hearted  father,  whose 
life  had  been  so  often  and  fatally  darkened 
by  misfortune.  But  almost  roughly  he  pushed 
her  away. 

"  Child ! "  he  cried,  with  an  expression  of 
the  deepest  agony  in  his  fine  face,  "why  do 
you  continue  to  love  a  wretch  whom  the 
whole  world  has  forsaken  ?  You,  too,  had 
better  forsake  him  !  Fly,  —  fly  now,  —  instant- 
ly, or  he  will  draw  you  into  a  far  deeper  mis- 
ery, —  a  suffering  for  which  there  are  no  words, 
in  comparison  with  which  all  you  have  already 
endured  will  seem  to  you  a  lot  worthy  of 
*>.avy,  a  destiny  full  of  blessings." 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 


15 


Molly  fell  at  his  feet,  and  embraced  his 
knees,  while  her  soft  blue  eyes  gazed  plead- 
ingly into  his  face. 

"  You  would  drive  me  from  you  ? "  she 
asked,  with  trembling  tones;  "you  yourself 
would  rob  me  of  my  last  hope,  my  only  sup- 
port ?  No,  father ;  you  cannot  mean  it  so, 
you  cannot  be  in  earnest!  There  is  no  hap- 
piness which  I  would  not  willingly  resign, 
unless  it  were  to  be  shared  with  you  !  All  the 
suffering  and  agony  which  God  may  choose 
to  inflict  upon  us  wrill  I  bear  without  a  mur- 
mur, with  a  firm  and  unblenching  spirit,  so 
long  as  He  tears  me  not  from  your  side! 
Father,  drive  me  not  from  you ! " 

Deeply  touched,  the  man  gazed  upon  his 
fair  child. 

"  So  said  your  mother,  also,"  he  murmured 
in  a  tone-  of  voice  scarcely  audible,  "  when 
her  stern  father  renounced  her  on  my  account. 
She  joyfully  offered  up  to  me  comfort  and 
wealth ;  through  all  the  bitter  renunciations 
which  our  poverty  forced  upon  us,  her  spirit 
remained  unbroken ;  and  even  when  her  eye 
grew  dim  with  the  gathering  mists  of  death, 


16  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

the  last  breath  which  escaped  from  her  pale 
lips  was  still  fraught  with  blessings,  with 
consolation,  with  undying  love  for  me ! " 

"  My  mother  was,  indeed,  good  and  pious," 
answered  Molly,  "  and  her  memory  will  always 
be  dear  to  my  heart.  The  heavenly  cheerful- 
ness with  which  she  bore  all  her  sorrows  and 
sufferings  will  always  remain  in  my  remem- 
brance, and  encourage  me  to  imitate  it.  But 
-you  are  not  less  dear  to  me  than  she  was. 
How  could  my  mother  find  any  sacrifice  hard 
which  was  to  be  made  for  your  sake  ?  Her 
father  must  have  been  very  wicked  when  he 
would  have  forced  her  to  marry  a  man  who 
was  generally  despised,  only  because  he  was 
rich,  although  she  frankly  confessed  to  him 
that  she  could  never  be  happy  with  any  one 
but  you.  When  she  told  the  man  whom  her 
father  would  have  forced  upon  her  that  she 
could  not  love  him,  and  when  he  in  conse- 
quence ceased  to  urge  his  suit,  then  her  father 
was  so  enraged  at  her  candor  that  he  re- 
nounced and  cursed  his  only  child.  But  you 
remained  true ;  you  clasped  the  disinherited 
girl  with  more  love  to  your  bosom  than  if 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  17 

she  had  brdught  you  all  the  wealth  of  which 
her  father  had  deprived  her.  To  render  her 
life  less  laborious,  you  have  yourself  suffered 
tortures.  You  have  never  rested  night  or 
day,  you  have  shunned  no  fatigue,  you  have 
avoided  no  hardships ;  and  when  at  last  she 
fell  sick,  and  grew  weaker  and  weaker  every 
day,  and  in  spite  of  all  your  weary  struggling 
you  could  not  procure  for  her  the  little  com- 
forts which  you  thought  necessary  to  lighten' 
her  sufferings,  then  you  went  secretly  and 
sold  your  farm  for  a  third  of  its  value,  be- 
cause upon  no  less  stringent  terms  would  the 
heartless  purchaser  consent  to  pay  you  any 
ready  money  upon  it,  and  permit  you  still  to 
remain  in  .possession  of  it  until  the  dying 
wife  should  have  closed  her  eyes  in  death. 
For  the  physician  had  already  said  she  must 
soon  die,  and  more  significantly  than  even 
the  prophecy  of  the  skilful  doctor  did  her 
always  increasing  weakness  whisper  it  to  our 
sinking  hearts.  You  would  not  suffer  the 
tranquillity  of  her  rapidly  passing  hours  to  be 
broken,  and  thus  she  was  never  informed  of 
the  heavy  sacrifice  you  had  made  to  insure 

2* 


18  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

her  comfort.  Softly  she  slumbered  her  life 
away,  for  she  was  never  tortured  by  any  fears 
for  the  future  of  her  loved  ones." 

"  Why  do  you  stop,  Molly  ?  "  vividly  asked 
the  father,  as  the  daughter  suddenly  ceased  in 
her  narration.  "  O,  go  on  !  go  on !  Confess 
at  once  that  you  have  often  thought  whether 
your  father  had  not  been  unwise  thus  to  sac- 
rifice his  little  farm,  which  was  all  he  pos- 
sessed ;  whether  he  had  not  been  imprudent 
to  give  up  his  only  hope  of  subsistence  for 
himself  and  his  children,  to  keep  alive,  only 
for  a  few  days  longer,  the  flickering  flame  of 
life  in  the  heart  of  the  wife,  who,  under  all 
possible  circumstances  of  alleviation,  was 
doomed  soon  to  die  ?  " 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  can  think  so  meanly 
of  me  ?  "  said  Molly,  hastily,  while  the  indig- 
nant blood  rushed  to  her  pale  cheek,  which 
glowed  for  a  moment  like  the  summer  rose. 

"  If  a  thought  so  degrading  has  ever  once, 
flitted  through  my  soul,  may  God  and  the 
Virgin  forsake  me  in  my  hour  of  need ! " 

A  loud  cry  from  Kitty  now  interrupted  them. 
Tired  of  the  Ions:  conversation  of  which  she 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  19 

could  understand  so  little,  the  child,  who  had 
not  before  ventured  to  leave  the  spot  upon 
which  her  sister  had  seated  her,  had  at  last 
risen,  and,  in  her  attempt  to  approach  the 
speakers,  had  fallen  over  the  sack  which  her 
father  had  thrown  on  the  floor  on  his  entrance. 
"  Don't  cry,  darling,"  said  the  soft  voice 
of  Molly,  as  she  lovingly  caressed  the  little 
girl,  who  was  trying  to  dry  the  ever-gushing 
tears  with  the  corner  of  her  apron.  "  You 
have  not  hurt  yourself  very  much,  have 
you,  Kitty  ?  It  don't  pain  you  now,  does 
it,  love  ?  Don't  cry  any  more,  and  I  will 
tell  you  what  "is  in  the  sack  over  which 
you  fell.  May  be  we  shall  find  some  calico 
in  it  to  make  a  little  frock  for  you,  or  some 
wool  to  knit  stockings  for  you.  I  will  make 
them  long  and  thick  for  you,  so  that  your 
poor  feet  will  no  longer  be  frozen."  So  say- 
Molly  opened  the  sack,  but  she  quickly 


drew  her  hand  out  again. 


"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  her  father. 
"  Why  do  you  look  so  frightened  ?  That 
which  is  in  the  sack  cannot  possibly  hurt  you 
now.  I  would  willingly  have  spared  you  the 


20  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

sight,  Molly,  but  you  must  know  it,  and  per- 
haps it  is  better  you  should  hear  it  now  than 
to-morrow,  because  you  will  then  have  time 
to  make  the  necessary  preparations." 

As  he  spoke,  he  stooped  down  and  lifted  up 
the  sack,  which  was  dotted  over  with  dark 
red  spots  resembling  blood.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  as  if  irresolute,  as  if  his  heart  failed 
him;  then,  with  a  sudden  effort,  he  raised  from 
the  sack  the  head  of  a  pig,  which  looked  as  if 
it  had  just  been  cut  off,  and  held  it  imme- 
diately over  the  flame,  so  that  his  daughter 
could  clearly  see  it.  Molly  could  not  suppress 
a  faint  shriek. 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  cov- 
ered her  face  with  both  hands,  from  which 
every  trace  of  color  now  vanished.  "  What 
will  become  of  us !  O,  I  never  could  have 
believed  it  possible  that  Wilkins  would  carry 
his  dreadful  threat  into  execution !  I  ne*ver 
thought  that  any  man  would  be  guilty  of 
such  a  barbarous  deed  !  He  has  torn  the  last 
hope  from  the  heart  of  the  poor !  It  is  fright- 
ful,—  horrible,  —  it  must  draw  down  the  wrath 
of  God  upon  him  !  O  merciful  God !  what 
will  iK'f-orno  of  ns  ?  " 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  21 

"  I  can  soon  tell  you  that,"  replied  her  fa- 
ther, with  assumed  tranquillity.  "  They  will 
be  here  early  to-morrow  to  tear  all  our  re- 
maining property  from  us.  As  it  will  not, 
however,  pay  more  than  half  the  debt,  they 
will  then  drive  us  all  out  of  the  cabin,  and  — 
and  —  that  is  all,  —  that  is  all,  Molly!  You 
can  form  no  idea  of  what  I  have  lived  through 
to-day.  The  blood  still  boils  in  my  veins  as 
I  think  of  it.  I  was  on  my  way  home  from 
the  village,  where  I  had  changed  our  few  spare 
potatoes  for  some  other  things  which  we  could 
not  do  without.  I  was  only  about  three  hun- 
dred steps  from  our  own  door,  when  I  heard  a 
gun  fired  close  by  me.  I  stopped,  and  looked 
round  in  every  direction  to  see  from  whence 
the  shot  came,  when  I  perceived  Wilkins 
standing  in  the  neighboring  field,  who  in  the 
same  moment  recognized  me,  and  burst  into 
a  loud  fit  of  laughter.  '  You  ragged  rascal ! ' 
he  cried  to  me,  '  just  come  a  little  nearer  and 
look  about  you,  then  tell  me  if  I  am  a  bad 
shot,  for  your  brute  lies  stone  dead  upon  my 
first  fire.'  With  these  words,  he  gave  a  kick 
to  something  which  lay  at  his  feet.  I  drew 


22 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 


nearer  to  look  at  it ;  it  was  a  pig,  —  our  pig, 
—  the  pig  which  I  had  intended  to  sell  this 
very  week,  so  as  to  be  able  to  pay  the  rent 
now  due  upon  the  hut ;  —  our  pig,  to  which  we 
have  so  often  given  our  own  meals,  and  have 
so  often  been  forced  to  do  without  food  our- 
selves that  we  might  fatten  it  for  sale.  I  was 
struck  dumb!  I  could  force  no  words  through 

O 

my  quivering  lips.  I  felt  as  if  some  huge 
hand,  which  I  could  not  remove,  were  grasp- 
ing my  throat,  and  slowly  twisting  my  neck 
round.  But  my  horror,  my  despair,  was  only 
pleasure  to  this  inhuman  wretch. 

"  With  his  fierce  gray  eyes  sparkling  with 
malice,  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  wild  triumph, — 
'  Look  now,  fellow,  did  n't  I  tell  before  how 
it  would  be  ?  It  was  only  yesterday  I  said 
to  your  daughter,  You  had  better  tie  your 
pig  up  tight,  for  if  I  ever  find  him  in  my 
field  I  will  without  any  warning  send  a  ball 
through  his  head.  And  now  I  have  shot  it. 
You  had  better  look  out  and  get  the  money 
to  pay  your  back  rent.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  But 
we  will  go  shares  in  the  carcass  of  the  pig ; 
for  I  must  be  paid  for  my  shot,  or  else  I  will 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  23 

have  wasted  my  powder.'  '  Halloo,  fellows  ! 
come  here,  will  you  ?  '  he  cried  to  some  of  his 
people  who  were  at  work  in  the  field ;  then, 
cutting  off  the  head  of  the  dead  brute  with 
his  jackkni'fe,  he  ordered  them  to  carry  the 
rest  of  it  to  his  own  house. 

"  Then  life  and  motion  at  once  returned  to 
my  paralyzed  limbs.  Before  he  was  aware  of 
my  intention,  I  had  seized  him  by  the  shoul- 
ders, lifted  him  from  the  ground,  and  shaken 
him  violently.  He  literally  foamed  with  rage, 
when  he  found  he  could  not  loose  himself 
from  the  iron  grasp  of  my  powerful  arms.  At 
last  I  sat  him  down  again,  but  not  very  softly, 
as  you  may  suppose.  No  sooner  .had  he  felt 
the  ground  fairly  under  his  feet,  than  he  ran 
off  as  fast  as  possible ;«  but  when  he  thought 
himself  at  a  sufficient  distance  from  me  to  be 
safe,  he  turned  round  and  screamed  to  me,  — 
'  Day  before  yesterday  the  new  landlord  ar- 
rived here;  he  is  no  such  milksop, as  the  old 
one  was  ;  he  is  determined  to  have  his  rent, 
and  you  may  be  sure  that  you  must  either 
pay  it  to-morrow  or  find  another  house  before 
night.' 


24  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

"  The  last  cruel  words  of  this  barbarous  man 
died  away  in  the  wind.  I  put  the  head  of 
the  pig,  which  he  had  designated  as  my  half, 
into  the  sack,  and  then  seated  myself  upon  a 
stone  to  think  how  I  could  tell  all  this  to  you, 
how  I  could  soften  it  for  you,  Molly.  I  thought, 
it  over  and  over  until  it  grew  dark,  for  I  could 
not  bear  to  bring  such  bad  news  home,  when 
I  remembered  that  you  would  be  wondering 
what  had  become  of  me ;  and  I  had  just  set 
out  again  on  my  return  when  I  heard  you  cry, 
'  Father ! '  God  be  thanked  that  you  now 
know  all !  I  breathe  already  more  freely,  for 
my  breast  felt  as  heavy,  and  my  heart  as  much 
crushed,  as  if  the  weight  of  the  world  had 
pressed  upon  them! 

"  Now,  children,  let  us  eat  our  supper  and  go 
to  bed  ;  it  is,  in  all  probability,  the  last  night 
we  shall  ever  spend  in  this  house.  However 
that  may  be,  He  who  clothes  the  lilies  and 
feeds  the  ravens  will  not  desert  us.  Even  if 
men  wearing  the  human  form,  yet  without 
compassion  for  their  fellows,  should  drive  us 
from  our  only  shelter,  and  force  us  to  take  up 
our  abode  with  the  beasts  of  the  field,  or  the 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  25 

wild  things  of  the  forest,  yet  will  He  find  for 
us  a  shelter  in  which  we  can  lay  down  our 
weary  heads  in  safety  !  " 

Molly  had  listened  in  utter  silence  to  the 
sad  recital  of  her  father.  She  now  poured 
the  potatoes  out  of  the  pot  into  a  large,  black 
earthen  dish,  sprinkled  a  little  salt  over  them, 
placed  them  upon  the  table,  pushed  the  two 
wooden  stools  close  to  it,  and  kindled  a  thin 
stick  of  pine,  which  she  put  into  a  hole  in  the 
wall,  that  it  might  throw  its  uncertain  light 
over  the  last  meal  they  were  ever  to  eat  to- 
gether in  their  present  home.  Taking  little 
Kitty  upon  her  lap,  she  sometimes  helped  her 
father  to  a  potato,  sometimes  gave  one  to 
the  hungry  child,  but  she  tasted  none  herself. 
Large  tears,  like  pearls,  ran  unceasingly  down 
her  pale  cheeks ;  but  no  other  trace  of  suffer- 
ing betrayed  the  bitter  emotions  which  strug- 
gled in  her  soul.  The  scanty  meal  was  soon 
ended ;  after  half  an  hour  had  passed,  nothing 
was  to  be  seen  in  the  dark  room,  nothing 
heard  save  the  measured  breathing  of  a  sleep- 
ing child,  from  time  to  time  the  gasping  of  a 
suppressed  sob,  or  a  deep,  yet  half-stifled  sigh. 


CHAPTER     II. 

THE    NEW    LANDLORD. 

MORNING  now  dawned  upon  the  earth,  but 
no  friendly  smiles  from  the  joyous  sun  an- 
nounced the  birth  of  the  young  day.  The 
lonely  hills  in  the  distance  were  half  veiled 
with  thick  gray  mists,  which,  tossed  and 
whirled  by  the  fitful  gusts  of  the  dreary  au- 
tumn wind,  looked  like  the  dim  ghosts  of  the 
dead  giants,  driven  on  to  judgment  by  the 
fell  spirits  of  the  gloomy  air.  As  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach,  no  human  form  was  visible. 
A  flock  of  sheep  were  quietly  browsing  the 
scanty  grass  on  the  slope  of  a  neighboring 
hill,  while  a  few  ravens  fluttered  and  cawed 
above.  Everything  seemed  dead,  even  in  the 
little  row  of  wretched  hovels  which  we  have 
described.  At  last  the  door  of  the  most  mis- 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  27 

erable  among  them,  with  whose  inmates  we 
are  already  acquainted,  opened,  and  Molly 
and  her  father  stepped  out  in  the  bleak,  raw 
morning  air.  At  the  same  moment,  they  ob- 
served the  forms  of  several  men  taming  into 
the  little  footpath  which  led  by  these  humble 
dwellings.  From  the  enormous  strides  taken 
by  them,  they  seemed  to  be  hurrying  forward 
with  all  their  powers. 

"  Father,  do  you  know  those  men  who  seem 
to  be  hastening  towards  us?"  asked  Molly. 

"  How  can  you  doubt  for  an  instant,  my 
poor  child  ?  How  fast  they  hurry  on,  as  if 
they  feared  their  human  prey  might  escape 
them  !  Can  you  see  them  distinctly  ?  Wil- 
kins  is  with  them.  No  doubt  he  is  delighted 
that  he  is  permitted  to  take  any  part  in  this 
inhuman  act.  Look!  He  has  his  two  furious 
bloodhounds  with  him!  It  seems  he  has  not 
forgotten  the  scene  of  yesterday,  and  has, 
therefore,  deemed  it  best  to  bring  his  pro- 
tectors with  him.  Yes,  yes;  the  very  worm 
will  turn  when  it  has  been  trodden  upon." 

The  poor  man  sighed  heavily  and  deeply, 
and  then  cast  a  pleading,  almost  a  reproachful, 


28 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 


glance  towards  the  clouded  heavens.  He  felt 
his  hand  suddenly  seized,  and  a  shower  of 
hot,  hot  tears  pour  upon  it ;  then  he  shook 
his  head  almost  defiantly,  as  if  ashamed  of 
his  momentary  weakness.  He  pressed  his 
daughter  closely  to  his  true  heart. 

"  Courage,  courage,  my  dear  child ! "  he 
said  to  her.  "  To-day  you  will  need  it  all ! 
But  the  just  Judge,  the  Merciful  One,  will 
surely  aid  us,  although  no  way  of  safety 
seems  at  present  open  before  us." 

"  O  father ! "  answered  Molly,  sobbing, 
"  what  a  terrible  day !  I  never  could  live 
through  it  were  you  not  near  me.  Look ! 
Even  the  bright  sun  has  wrapped  himself  in 
his  thickest,  darkest  veils,  that  he  may  not  be 
forced  to  gaze  upon  a  scene  so  full  of  horror." 

/ 

She  closed  her  eyes  as  she  rested  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder,  but  was  soon  frightened 
from  her  place  of  refuge  by  the  furious  howl- 
ings  of  the  fierce  hounds. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  cried  Wilkins,  who  now 
stood  within  a  few  steps  of  the  door,  and 
gazed  upon  them  with  an  expression  of  vin- 
dictive rage.  "  Are  you  contemplating  the 


MOLLY     AND    KITTY.  29 

charming  country  which  surrounds  you  ? 
Well,  well,  you  will  certainly  have  time 
enough  to  study  nature  in  the  open  air,  with 
no  roof  between  you  and  the  autumn  stars. 
Therefore,  perhaps  you  had  better  gaze  upon 
the  delights  of  your  castle  here,  think  what  a 
charming  place  of  residence  it  has  always 
been  for  you,  and  that,  if  you  really  wish  to 
enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  shelter  within  its  walls, 
you  must  pay  immediately  the  rent  which  is 
due  upon  it ;  for  you  are  in  arrears  seven 
months  and  ten  days.  Ha!  ha!  how  is  it? 
will  you  answer  me  ?  I  must  know  instantly, 
O'Neil,  whether  you  are  ready  to  pay  me  the 
ready  money,  the  sum  due  upon  the  rent, 
now,  or  not  ?  " 

O'Neil  answered  tranquilly,  "  You  know 
I  cannot  pay  it ;  and  you  know,  too,  why 
I  cannot;  for  you  yourself  robbed  me  yes- 
terday of  the  only  means  to  do  it  which  I 
possessed  in  the  world." 

Wilkins  angrily  interrupted  him,  saying, 
"  What  nonsensical  stuff!  What  idle  chat- 
tering! I  know  where  I  am,  and  what  I  am 
doing;  and  you  shall  soon  know  it  too  !  But 

3* 


30 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 


if  the  keen  wind  should  nip  the  nose  of  your 
dainty  daughter,  or  freeze  your  own,  then 
remember  that  it  was  warmer  in  this  hat,  and 
that  it  was  no  trifle  to  have  handled  an  hon- 
orable sportsman  like  myself  with  your  rough 
hands  !  Ha  !  ha !  The  morning  air  is  some- 
what bleak,  but  we  shall  have  rain  before 
night !  Go  ahead !  go  ahead,  boys !  go  into 
the  rascal's  den,  and  bring  out  all  you  see 
there.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  No  doubt  you  will 
find  things  of  enormous  value  in  it,  for  the 
lord  tenant  carries  his  head  so  high  he  must 
surely  have  thousands  at  his  command  !  " 

The  men  who  were  with  him  approached 
the  door  of  the  hovel,  in  order  to  execute  his 
brutal  commands ;  but  Molly  rushed  on  in 
advance  of  them  to  bring  out  her  little  sister, 
who,  utterly  unconscious  of  all  the  horrors 
that  surrounded  her,  was  still  wrapped  in 
peaceful  slumber.  As  Molly  lifted  the  scarcely 
wakened  child  tenderly  in  her  protecting  arms, 
she  lightly  murmured,  "  O  that  I,  too,  were 
blind !  for  even  to  sit  in  perpetual  dark- 
ness must  be  a  lighter  affliction  than  to  be 
forced  to  look  upon  such  things  as  are  now 


MOJL.LY    AND    KITTY.  31 

I 

occurring,  without  possessing  the  least  power 
to  prevent  them." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  become  blind  ? "  asked 
Kitty,  who,  almost  as  in  a  dream,  had  heard 
the  sad  words  of  her  sister.  "  O,  if  you 
only  knew  how  frightful  it  is  to  be  blind,  you 
wcfuld  never,  never  say  such  a  dreadful  thing! 
O,  what  a  constant  happiness  it  must  be 
to  be  able  to  see ! "  added  the  poor  little  blind 
girl,  vividly,  while  her  dead  eyes  seemed  al- 
most to  kindle  into  life  as  she  continued  to 
speak.  "  Molly,  my  Molly,  if  I  could  only- 
see  you,  and  my  dear  father,  and  the  blue 
sky,  and  all  the  glittering  stars,  which  you 
have  so  often  told  me  were  so  wonderfully 
beautiful,  then  I  would  willingly  endure  both 
hunger  and  cold,  and  I  would  never  complain 
again,  Molly!" 

"  Alas,  my  poor  little  blind  one !  hunger 
and  cold  you  must  soon  endure,  without 
being  able  to  see  the  shining  stars  above,  the 
faces  of  those  you  love,  or  the  blue  heaven- 
tent!  "  sighed  Molly,  as  the  rapid  tears  coursed 
down  her  cheeks.  "  O,  my  heart  will  surely 
break  if  I  am  to  see  my  poor  little  Kitty  pine 


32  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

and  waste  away  before  my  eyes !  There  is 
no  deeper  anguish  in  this  wretched  world  than 
to  be  forced  to  gaze  upon  the  slow  agonies  of 
those  whom  we  love  and  cannot  aid.  That 
is  the  real  torture ;  that  is  far  worse  than 
death ! " 

In  a  few  moments  the  men  had  succeeded 
in  dragging  out  all  the  scanty  furniture  of 
the  unhappy  family.  Wilkins  measured  it 
rapidly  with  his  keen  eyes,  then  turned  them 
away  with  an  expression  of  the  utmost  scorn. 
He  muttered  angrily  between  his  teeth  : 
"  The  whole  property  is  good  for  nothing, 
except  to  split  up  and  heat  the  stove.  It 
would  never  be  worth  while  to  offer  such 
wretched  trash  for  sale,  for  the  whole  sum 
that  could  be  raised  upon  it  would  not  be 
enough  to  buy  the  most  wretched  goose  that 
ever  starved  upon  the  bogs  of  Ireland." 

Then  suddenly  and  angrily  turning  to 
O'Neii,  who  stood,  as  if  turned  to  stone, 
before  the  door  of  his  hut,  he  said :  "  Now, 
O'Neii,  what  are  you  standing  there  for  ? 
You  had  better  use  the  time  before  the 
arrival  of  the  landlord,  whom  I  already  see 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  33 

in  the  distance.  If  you  stay  here  until  he 
comes,  he  will  probably  let  you  taste  the 
delights  of  his  hunting-whip,  for  he  is  very 
generous  in  the  lavish  use  he  is  in  the  habit 
of  making  of  it." 

O'Neil  shuddered  as  if  stung  by  a  rattle- 
snake ;  his  hands  were  clenched  as  if  in  a 
convulsion  ;  his  eyes  started  almost  out  of  his 
head,  as  if  about  to  fall  from  their  pained 
sockets. 

"  Pitiless  !  inhuman  !  "  he  cried,  "  what  do 
you  require  from  me  ?  O,  if  indeed  a  human 
heart  beats  in  your  bosom,  look  upon  these 
poor  girls,  and  you  cannot,  I  am  sure  you 
cannot,  re-echo  an  order  so  cruel  to  their  un- 
happy father !  Take  all  that  we  possess,  we 
will  ask  to  retain  nothing ;  but  for  the  love  of 
God,  drive  us  not  out  naked,  without  a  shel- 
ter, in  the  freezing  autumn  blasts  !  Give  me 
only  a  respite  for  three  months,  and  I  will  do 
everything.  I  will  work  day  and  night ;  I  will 
never  rest  until  I  have  gained  enough  to  pay 
my  rent ! " 

Wilkins  looked  upon  him  with  a  bitter 
smile,  and  answered  with  a  harsh  voice  : 


0*  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

"  All  this  is  useless.     No  delay  can  possibly 

j  r 

be  granted  to  you.;  And  I  adviser  you,  as  a 
friend,  that  you  had  better  get  out  of  the  way 
before  the  new  landlord  cornes." 

But  O'Neil  did  not  seem  to  regard  this 
warning. 

"O  God!"  he  cried,  "  where  shall  I  find 
words  to  move  this  heart  of  stone  ?  " 

Then  again  turning  himself  towards  his 
enemy,  he  plead  yet  more  earnestly  with  him. 

"  Have  mercy  upon  us,  Wilkins,  I  conjure 
you  by  all  that  is  holy  or  dear  in  your  eyes  ; 
by  the  bones  of  the  mother  who  loved  you, 
and  which  are  now  mouldering  under  the  sod; 
by  the  trembling  head  and  silver  hairs  of  your 
aged  father ;  by  the  Eternal  God  who  rules 
above  the  stars,  and  who  suffers  no  cruelty  to 
pass  unpunished !  You  had  a  great  deal  of 
influence  with  the  former  landlord,  and  I  have  • 
no  doubt  that  a  single  word  from  you  would 
induce  the  new  one  to  grant  me  a  short  delay. 
Speak  it,  Wilkins  !  " 

"  Halloo  !  what 's  the  matter  there  ?  "  cried 
a  rough,  loud  voice ;  and  the  speaker,  mounted 
upon  a  powerful  horse,  rode  towards  them. 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  35 

Wilkins  bowed  to  the  very  ground.  "  It  is 
the  tenant,"  said  he,  "  of  whom  I  spoke  to  your 
worship  yesterday;  he  won't  leave  the  hut,  and 
yet  I  have  already  promised  it  to  another." 

"  He  must  go,  and  go  immediately.  There 
shall  be  no  delay.  Where  is  the  rascal  who 
dared  to  lay  his  insolent  hands  upon  one  of 
my  agents." 

O'Neil  now  pressed  up  to  the  side  of  the 
horse  upon  which  the  speaker  was  seated, 
and,  throwing  himself  upon  his  knees,  wring- 
ing his  hands  in  his  wild  despair,  passionately 
prayed,  "  Have  pity!  O,  have  mercy  upon  us! 
For  the  sake  of  the  harmless,  helpless  chil- 
dren ! " 

"  Is  the  rascal  mad  ?  "  said  the  angry  land- 
lord ;  "  tear  him  from  under  the  feet  of  my 
horse,  or  I  '11  drive  the  iron  hoofs  into  his 
brain.  If  he  refuses  to  go  away  from  the 
cabin  willingly,  let  the  bloodhounds  loose 
upon  him,  and  I  '11  warrant  you  they  '11  soon 
put  an  end  to  his  Irish  howls." 

Yet  again  would  O'Neil,  for  the  sake  of 
his  helpless  children,  have  tried  to  touch  the 
heart  of  the  barbarous  landlord.  Again  be 


«50  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

raised  his  pleading  eyes  to  the  hard  face ; 
but  its  fierce  expression  told  him  all  hope  was 
vain,  and  a  frightful,  shrill  cry,  almost  like  a 
death-shriek,  forced  its  way  from  his  agonized 
breast.  As  if  suddenly  overcome  by  utter  de- 
spair, he  sprang  up  with  a  wild  movement 
from  the  earth  upon  which  he  had  thrown 
himself,  took  little  Kitty  in  the  one  arm,  while 
he  threw  the  other  round  the  half-fainting 
Molly,  lifted  her  entirely  from  the  ground, 
and,  as  if  hunted  ar}d  pursued  by  relentless 
furies,  rushed  rapidly  away.  But  scarcely  had 
he  lost  sight  of  his  wretched  hovel,  when  he 
fell,  completely  exhausted,  to  the  ground. 

The  poor  occupants  of  the  neighboring  cab- 
ins, who  had  been  silent,  yet  indignant,  wit- 
nesses of  the  horrible  scene  which  we  have 
just  attempted  to  portray,  now  approached 
with  various  little  offerings  for  the  banished 
and  homeless  family.  One  brought  a  cake  of 
oatmeal,  shaped  like  our  pancakes,  but  as  thin 
as  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  as  hard  as  a  stone  ; 
another  offered  a  little  bag  of  potatoes,  some 
salt,  and  a  small  piece  of  pork ;  an  old  woman 
presented  Molly  with  a  yard  or  two  of  coarse 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  37 

linen,  and  a  pair  of  knit  stockings ;  and  a 
young  girl  wrapped  up  the  half-naked  Kitty 
in  a  large  piece  of  heavy  cloth  spun  from 
wool.  Each  gave  what  he  had  to  spare,  not 
only  food,  but  some  of  the  most  indispensable 
utensils  for  cooking ;  indeed,  many  gave  more 
than  they  could  well  spare,  and  the  good  peo- 
ple would  certainly  have  taken  the  unhappy, 
homeless  family  into  their  own  hovels,  if  they 
had  not  stood  in  awe  of  the  rage  of  the  land- 
lord, and  feared  the  revenge  of  his  heartless 
agent.  So  true  is  it  that  compassion  dwells 
rather  in  the  hut  of  the  poor  than  in  the  pal- 
ace of  the  rich. 

Silent  from  excess  of  feeling,  and  with 
many  grateful  and  heartfelt  pressures  of  the 
hand,  O'Neil  parted  from  his  kind  neighbors. 
Unsteadily  and  doubtingly  he  gazed  into  the 
distance.  As  he  threw  a  despairing  glance 
above,  the  dark  clouds  parted ;  and  the  bright 
sun  looked  cheerful  and  glad  as  the  heavy 
folds  of  his  cloud-veil  were  lifted,  and  joyously 
he  sent  his  mild  rays  upon  the  moist  earth. 

"  This  way,  this  way,  dear  father.  O,  let 
us  take  this  path :  it  leads  to  the  hills  ! "  said 

4 


38  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

Molly,  pointing  to  a  hill  down  whose  side 
trickled,  singing,  a  little  stream.  The  drops  of 
water  sparkled  like  bright  tears  as  the  rays  of 
the  sun  shone  upon  them,  and  the  rippling  of 
the  brook,  as  it  kissed  the  pebbles,  was  soft 
and  tender  as  the  distant  echo  of  a  cradle- 
song,  chanted  by  some  fond  mother  to  pro- 
long the  sleep  of  her  slumbering  child.  Si- 
lently O'Neil  turned  into  the  path  which 
Molly  had  begged  him  to  take,  holding  the 
poor  blind  child  in  his  arms,  who,  through  her 
unconscious  and  innocent  questions,  con- 
stantly added  to  the  tortures  of  his  sick  heart. 
His  whole  soul  was  now  filled  with  but  one 
thought,  one  wish,  —  the  desire  to  find  before 
nightfall  some  cleft  in  the  rock,  some  cavern, 
which  might  serve  as  a  temporary  shelter  for 
the  beings  he  loved.  If  he  should  be  able  to 
succeed  in  gaining  any  place  of  refuge,  and 
what  means  it  would  be  best  to  take,  in  order 
to  find  some  spot  in  which  he  could  leave 
his  children,  while  he  labored  to  keep  them 
from  dying  of  hunger,  were  the  questions 
which  filled  his  soul,  and  tasked  all  the  pow- 
ers of  his  mind  to  answer.  He  struggled 
with  all  hi.3  strength  to  suppress  every  other 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  39 

thought,  to  banish  every  emotion  of  anger  or 
hatred  from  his  heart,  in  order  to  be  able  to 
give  every  faculty  of  his  being  to  the  solving 
of  these  pressing  questions.  Yet,  with  all  his 
thinking,  with  all  his  struggling,  with  all  his 
suffering,  he  could  find  no  egress  from  the 
dark  labyrinth  of  cares  in  which  he  was  in- 
volved, in  which  he  perpetually  wandered ;  for 
although  a  thousand  plans  passed  through  his 
whirling  brain,  he  was  always  obliged  again 
to  relinquish  them,  because  of  some  obstacle 
which  rendered  their  execution  impossible. 

If  this  man,  the  lineal  descendant  of  the 
first  possessors  of  green  Erin,  now  driven 
about  without  home,  without  shelter,  to  pre- 
serve his  own  miserable  life,  or  to  still  the 
painful  cries  of  a  frightful  death  from  famine, 
which  was  already  fastening  its  accursed  fangs 
in  the  heart  of  his  children,  had  been  driven 
in  his  agony  to  scorn  the  laws  made  by  his 
oppressors,  and,  like  the  wild  beast,  had  sprung 
from  his  inaccessible  cleft  in  the  rock,  his  last 
refuge  from  the  cruelty  of  man,  and  had  car- 
ried his  booty  home  to  sustain  life  in  his  dying 
children, — to  whom  should  the  crime  be  justly 
attributed  ? 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE    STORM. 

"He  clothes  the  lilies,  and  feeds  the  ravens." 

NOT  far  from  the  sea-coast,  in  a  cavern 
formed  by  the  fall  of  an  enormous  rock,  after 
a  period  of  about  fourteen  days  from  the  oc- 
currences which  we  have  just  described,  we 
again  find  the  unfortunate  family  of  O'Neil. 
Aided  by  his  herculean  strength,  he  had  suc- 
ceeded, after  the  most  vigorous  efforts,  in  re- 
moving the  heavy  fragments  of  fallen  rock 
from  the  interior  of  the  cave,  and  thus  gained 
sufficient  space  to  shelter  himself  and  his 
children  from  the  piercing  winds  and  increas- 
ing cold  of  autumn.  The  entrance  to  this 
subterranean  dwelling  was  rjartially  hidden 
by  a  projection  in  the  wall  of  rock,  and  this 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  41 

kind  freak  of  nature  not  only  secured  them 
from  the  unwelcome  or  untimely  gaze  of  pry- 
ing eyes,  but  also  gave  them  some  protection 
against  the  wind  and  rain,  which  might  other- 
wise have  rendered  their  refuge  almost  un- 
tenantable. There  was  a  small  opening  in 
the  vaulted  roof  of  the  cavern,  also  formed 
by  the  hand  of  nature,  which  served  both  as 
window  and  chimney,  yet  which  might  be 
entirely  closed  by  rolling  a  stone  upon  the 
outside  of  the  cave.  The  inside  of  this  prim- 
itive dwelling  was  indeed  very  far  from  offer- 
ing what  those  accustomed  to  the  slightest 
degree  of  comfort  are  in  the  habit  of  calling 
the  "  necessaries  of  life " ;  yet  it  might  be 
seen,  upon  the  most  cursory  glance,  that  taste- 
ful and  industrious  hands  had  labored  to 
remove  the  most  striking  appearances  of  dis- 
comfort, and  had  skilfully  used  every  avail- 
able means  to  provide  for  the  most  pressing 
wants  of  the  afflicted  family.  Some  frag- 
ments of  rock,  which  they  still  suffered  to 
remairkon  the  inside,  had  had  their  projecting 
inequalities  caiefully  hewn  away,  and  were 
thus  changed  into  chairs  and  tables.  Two 


42  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

low  benches  of  stone,  which  they  had  found 
laying  along  the  walls,  and  which  in  their 
long,  narrow  form  somewhat  resembled  coffins, 
had  been  slightly  hollowed  out,  and,  covered 
with  reeds  and  soft  moss,  they  answered  in 
place  of  beds  and  bedsteads.  A  little  fire 
burned  in  one  corner,  on  a  hearth  formed  of 
two  flat  stones,  while  Molly,  occupied  with 
her  sewing,  was  sitting  near  the  entrance,  Ap- 
parently with  the  intention  of  getting  all  the 
light  she  could  obtain,  as  it  fell  but  scantily 
into  the  interior  of  the  cavern.  Kitty,  with 
her  head  resting  in  her  sister's  lap,  was  kneel- 
ing at  her  feet. 

"  Have  you  almost  finished  my  little  frock, 
Molly  ?  "  asked  the  blind  child. 

"  You  will  soon  have  it  to  put  on,  Kitty ; 
I  have 'only  the  sleeves  left  to  finish  now!" 

"  It  takes  you  a  great  while  to  make  it, 
Molly." 

"  That  is  very  true,  darling,  for  the  only 
needle  that  I  have  is  too  fine  to  carry  the 
coarse  thread;  so  no  matter  how  much  I 
hurry,  the  work  progresses  vejy  slowly." 

"  O  my   good   sister  Molly !      How  much 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  43 

care  and  trouble  you  have  always  had  about 
me!  If  I  could  only  see,  I  would  work  so 
willingly !  but  now  I  can  do  nothing,  except 
to  pray  always  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  re- 
ward you  for  all  the  care  you  take  of  the 
poor  little  blind  girl.  How  often  and  often 
you  have  almost  starved  yourself,  that  you 
might  be  able  to  give  me  something  to  eat, 
trying  to  conceal  from  me  that  you  were  so 
hungry  yourself!  but  you  did  not  always 
succeed  in  hiding  it  from  me,  Molly.  How 
lovingly  you  clasp  me  in  your  soft  arms,  and 
hold  me  close  to  your  bosom,  to  try  and 
warm  me  when  my  limbs  are  half  frozen  with 
cold!  —  But  hush! — don't  you  hear  some- 
thing, sister  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  Kitty,  but  the  wind,  which  howls 
as  it  winds  through  these  desolate  cliffs." 

"  O,  how  frightful  it  is  here  when  father 
is  not  with  us  !  'I  will  not  be  back  for  three 
days,'  —  did  he  not  say  so,  Molly,  as  he  went 
away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  darling.  '  When  the  sun  for  the 
third  time  stands  midway  in  the  sky,  I  will 
again  be  with  you,'  he  said,  as  he  kissed  us 
at  parting." 


44  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

"  Then  he  will  be  here  to-morrow.  But  do 
you  know  where  he  is  gone  ?  " 

"  He  went  to  seek  work  in  one  of  the  more 
distant  villages.  Perhaps  some  of  the  farmers 
may  employ  him ;  he  thought  he  might  be 
able  to  gain  something  by  aiding  in  the  labor 
of  harvesting.  Although  we  have  been  so 
very  economical  in  the  use  of  the  food  which 
our  kind  neighbors  gave  the  morning  upon 
which  we  were  driven  from  our  home,  it  is 
already  exhausted.  If  our  father  should  fail 
in  his  efforts  to  get  work,  we  must  die  of 
hunger,  Kitty." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  Die  of  hunger !  How 
horrible !  It  would  have  been  better,  then, 
that  we  had  been  torn  to  pieces  at  once  by 
the  furious  bloodhounds  which  the  angry 
^andlord  threatened  to  set  upon  us,  than  to 
linger  on  through  such  a  frightful  death. — 
But,  Molly,  do  you  hear  nothing?  nothing 
at  all?" 

"  No,  little  sistsr ;  nothing  but  the  raging  of 
the  storm  and  tiie  surging  of  the  waves  as 
they  break  upon  the  coast.  You  are  always 
so  nervous  and  excitable  when  our  father  is 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  45 

away;  but  be  quiet,  for  another  Father,  far 
more  powerful,  and  still  more  kind  than  our 
dear  one,  is  always  with  us,  arid  watches  over 
us  with  tender  eyes.  He  will  never  forsake 
us ;  he  will  deliver  us  in  the  time  of  need ; 
but  we  must  do  all  we  can  to  help  ourselves. 
In  the  hour  of  our  greatest  necessity,  he 
stands  closest  to  us.  He  will  not  suffer  us  to 
perish  utterly." 

"  Talk  on ;  talk  on,  dear  Molly,"  said  Kitty, 
pleadingly ;  "  if  I  can  only  hear  your  voice,  I 
don't  feel  so  much  afraid,  it  is  so  soft  and 
sweet !  It  is  so  much  like  our  dear  mother's, 
that  I  often  fancy  it  she  who  is  speaking  to 
me.  —  But  you  surely  hear  something  now, 
sister ! " 

"  I  hear  nothing  but  the  long  cries  of  the 
sea-gulls,  as  they  flutter  o'er  the  waves,  and 
their  sharp,  shrill  tones  tell  us  that  we  will 
have  more  wind  and  rain." 

"  It  is  very  strange  that  you  do  not  hear 
anything ;  for  it  has  seemed  to  me  four  or  five 
times  as  if  I  heard  the  death-sobs  of  some 
one  in  the  last  agony,  and  a  despairing  cry 
for  help  has  at  intervals  rung  in  my  ears ! 


46  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

Are  you  crying,  sister  ?  Or  what  is  that  hot 
drop  which  has  just  fallen  upon  my  hand  ?  " 

"  It  is  only  a  drop  of  blood ;  I  have  stuck 
my  finger  with  this  fine  needle.  Your  anxiety 
has  excited  me  also,  and  it  seems  to  me  now 
as  if  I  too  heard  long  sighs  and  groans  near 
us.  It  may,  indeed,  be  possible  that  some 
unhappy  creature  requires  our  aid.  I  will  at 
least  look  out  and  see  if  I  can  discover  from 
whence  the  sounds  come.  Remain  sitting 
quite  still  here,  Kitty ;  your  little  frock  is  fin- 
ished, and  as  soon  as  I  come  back  I  will  put 
it  on  you,  darling." 

Molly  stepped  out  in  front  of  the  cave. 
She  looked  eagerly  round  in  every  direction, 
but  she  saw  nothing  save  the  desolate  cliffs, 
whose  naked  sides  had  bid  defiance  to  the 
storms  of  centuries,  and  piles  of  rocks  over- 
grown with  moss,  like  the  gravestones  used 
in  the  times  of  the  heathens.  From  one 
point,  where  the  formation  of  the  hills  allowed 
the  distant  scene  to  be  visible  through  the 
aperture,  she  saw  far  in  the  distance  the 
foaming,  tossing  waves  of  the  white,  wide 
ocean. 


MOLLY    AND  THE    STRANGER. 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  47 

"  O,  if  the  slight  and  tottering  boat  of 
some  poor  fisher,  or  if  some  richly  laden  ship, 
is  now  tossing  about  upon  the  raging  waves 
of  this  wild  sea,  pity  those,  O  thou  good  and 
powerful  God !  who  have  nothing  but  a  plank 
between  them  and  eternity  ! "  prayed  Molly, 
with  lifted  hands.  Then  again  she  thought 
she  heard  a  deep  sigh  very  near  her,  and  at 
the  same  moment  she  stumbled  and  nearly 
fell  over  something  which  lay  at  her  feet ;  and 
as  she  stooped  down  to  see  what  it  was,  she 
discovered  with  horror  that  the  dark  object 
before  her  was  a  human  form,  over  whose  face 
the  fresh  blood  was  streaming,  and  whose 
hand  still  grasped  a  gun.  It  was  too  dark  to 
be  able  to  see  the  features  of  the  man  dis- 
tinctly ;  but  although  his  clothes  were  soiled 
with  blood,  it  was  evident  that  he  belonged 
to  the  higher  walks  of  life. 

"Holy  Virgin!  What  can  —  what  shall  I 
do  ?  "  exclaimed  Molly.  "  The  wounded  man 
is  still  living;  but  if  I  leave  him  lying  here 
alone,  he  must  certainly  perish ;  and,  poor 
weak  girl  that  I  am,  how  can  I  possibly  lift 
his  heavy  body  and  carry  it  into  the  cave  ?  " 


48  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

She  raised  the  head  of  the  wounded  stranger, 
and  held  it  gently  in  her  arras,  so  that  it 
might  rest  more  comfortably  than  upon  the 
hard  earth.  At  last  the  thought  that  it  would 
be  possible  for  her  to  drag  him  to  the  cavern 
struck  the  compassionate  girl. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  strong  enough  to  drag  him 
home  ;  I  will  at  least  try  it,"  said  Molly. 

She  ran  first  rapidly  back  to  the  cave,  in 
order  to  remove  carefully  all  the  stones  which 
were  to  be  found  upon  the  way  over  which  she 
judged  it  best  to  drag  the  body;  then,  hastily 
returning  to  the  wounded  man,  she  tenderly 
supported  his  shoulders,  and  succeeded  in 
thus  moving  him  a  few  steps  forward.  But 
she  was  soon  forced  to  stop  to  get  breath  and 
collect  new  strength  ;  yet  she  did  not  suffer 
her  courage  to  sink,  and  after  many  forced 
stops  and  many  vigorous  efforts,  she  at  last 
succeeded  in  dragging  the  wounded  man  to 
the  entrance  of  their  strange  place  of  shelter. 
She  laid  him  softly  down  on  the  outside  of 
the  curtain  of  rock,  ran  within,  and  while  she, 
exhausted  and  out  of  breath,  explained  to 
little  Kitty  that  she  had  found  a  human  being 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  49 

who  sadly  needed  their  help,  she  hastily  car- 
ried the  moss  from  the  two  coffin-like  beds 
standing  against  the  rocky  walls,  made  a  bed 
of  it  by  the  side  of  the  dying  fire,  and  rested 
not  until  she  had  placed  the  wounded  man 
upon  it.  She  then  stirred  up  the  fire,  to  dif- 
fuse more  heat  as  well  as  to  obtain  more 
light,  placed  shivering  little  Kitty  somewhat 
nearer  to  the  genial  blaze,  and  again  left  the 
cavern  to  bring  some  fresh,  cool  water  from 
the  spring,  which  was  not  far  distant.  She 
was  soon  back  again,  and  began,  as  carefully 
as  possible,  to  wash  the  clotted  blood  away 
from  the  face  of  the  wounded  man,  which  was 
still  flowing  from  an  open  gash  upon  the  fore- 
head. But  as  she  continued  to  bathe  it  with  the 
fresh  cold  water,  the  blood  gradually  ceased  to 
flow,  and  with  the  hope  of  entirely  stopping 
it,  she  took  the  only  handkerchief  which  she 
possessed  from  her  neck,  and  bound  it  round 
the  wounded  head.  At  last  the  man  opened 
his  eyes.  At  that  moment  Molly  recognized 
him,  —  and,  with  a  sudden  shudder,  turned 
away !  It  was  the  landlord,  whose  stony  heart 
her  father  had  in  vain  attempted  to  move, 

5 


50  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

before  whom  he  had  uselessly  humbled  him- 
self to  the  very  dust,  from  whose  rnouth  -the 
fiercest,  the  most  inhuman  threats  had  pro- 
ceeded, who  now  lay,  prostrate  and  helpless, 
before  her,  whom  she  had  taken  in  her  own 
arms  and  painfully  brought  to  their  last  refuge ! 
But  the  struggle  did  not  last  long  in  the  depths 
of  Molly's  heart.  What  she  ought  to  do,  what 
duty  and  humanity  ordained  should  be  done, 
even  for  the  most  bitter  enemy,  stood  in  clear 
and  plain  letters  before  her  soul.  She  did  not 
repent  for  a  moment  of  that  which  she  had 
already  done ;  and  she  determined  to  offer  up 
everything  in  her  power  to  preserve  the  sinking 
life  in  the  bosom  of  the  barbarous  landlord. 
She  knew,  by  the  wild  rolling  of  his  bloodshot 
eyes,  by  the  feverish  color  which  burned  upon 
his  cheeks,  and  which  had  suddenly  succeeded 
to  a  death-like  pallor,  that  his  life  was  in  dan- 
ger; but  she  determined  not  to  tell  her  sister 
what  a  dreadful  guest  was  indebted  to  them 
for  their  strange  hospitality.  It  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  her  that  she  had  taken  all  the  moss 
from  the  bed  of  the  little  girl,  and  that  she 
must  again  venture  out  to  search  for  more ; 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  51 

and  she  rapidly  made  ready  to  seek  it  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  cavern,  before  it  should 
be  too  dark  to  collect  it.  When  she  returned 
with  enough  for  the  little  bed,  she  handed  a 
potato,  which  she  had  just  raked  from  the 
warm  ashes,  to  her  little  sister  for  supper. 

"  It  is  all  I  can  possibly  give  you,  Kitty," 
she  said,  in  a  melancholy  tone.  "  Even  the 
salt  is  all  out ;  let  us  hope  that  our  dear  father 
will  bring  some  more  home  with  him  to-mor- 
row. Before  you  go  to  sleep,  darling,  pray 
to  the  Holy  Virgin  that  she  will  take  care  of 
him,  and  that  she  will  lead  him  back  again 
in  safety  to  our  arms ! " 

She  then  placed  her  sister  upon  her  little 
bed  of  moss,  sang  with  her  soft  young  voice 
a  soothing  lullaby  which  she  had  learned  from 
her  mother,  and  not  until  she  was  convinced, 
by  the  sweet  and  measured  breathing  of  the 
blind  child,  that  she  was  certainly  asleep,  did 
her  soothing  cradle-hymn  cease,  or  did  she 
leave  her  side.  Then  she  hastened  to  the 
wounded  man,  by  whom  she  determined  to 
watch  during  the  weary  hours  of  the  long 
night 


52  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

She  found  him  also  sleeping,  with  his  head 
sunk  upon  his  breast,  while  he  groaned  fre- 
quently, as  if  tortured  by  some  frightful  dream. 
He  still  held  the  gun  spasmodically  clasped  in 
his  clenched  hand  ;  Molly  carefully  tried  to 
wrest  it  from  his  iron  grasp.  At  last  she  suc- 
ceeded, for  although  he  sprang  up  fiercely 
and  looked  wildly  around  him  for  a  moment, 
he  again  fell  back  almost  immediately,  ex- 
hausted and  without  power.  She  then  took 
her  station  near  him,  that  she  might  watch  his 
feverish  movements  ;  her  eyes  rested  long  and 
searchingly  upon  his  features,  which  strangely 
reminded  her  of  some  face  familiar  to  her, 
and  although  she  earnestly  sought  to  trace  the 
resemblance,  yet  she  did  not  succeed  in  find- 
ing out  the  person  whom  the  countenance  of 
the  landlord  constantly  recalled  to  her  uncer- 
tain memory. 

What  a  night  for  the  poor  maiden !  The 
storm  of  rain  and  wind  raged  still  more  fu- 
riously than  it  had  done  during  the  day.  It 
broke  and  roared  through  the  sharp  rocks, 
while  the  howling  and  whistling  of  the  raging 
winds  sounded  like  the  sobs  and  sighs  of 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  53 

thousands  of  dying  men.  Like  continuous 
peals  of  distant  thunder,  as  they  flung  them- 
selves in  their  might  against  the  steep  and 
jagged  rocks  of  the  cliff,  the  breaking  of  the 
raging  waves  might  be  continually  heard. 
But  they  only  broke  to  renew  the  strife ;  to 
collect  again  vast  masses  of  the  maddened 
sea  to  renew  the  vain  attack  upon  the  rock- 
bound  coast. 

For  a  lone  and  unprotected  girl  it  was  also 
fearful  in  the  inside  of  the  cave.  The  wind 
would  not  suffer  the  thick  smoke  to  ascend 
through  its  usual  outlet,  and  it  filled  the  room 
with  its  stifling  vapor,  while  the  dying  coals 
glowed  upon  the  hearth  like  fiery  eyes  glitter- 
ing through  the  gloom,  and  the  heavy,  fever- 
ish, spasmodic  breathing  of  the  suffering  man 
rendered  it  still  more  dreadful.  Molly  felt  as 
if  surrounded  by  the  icy  air  of  a  charnel- 
house  ;  as  if  the  cold  hands  of  the  dead 
grasped  her  throat  and  stifled  her  breath ! 
All  her  limbs  shivered  as  if  struck  by  a  sud- 
den chill,  until  she  at  last  conquered  herself 
sufficiently  to  be  able  to  leave  the  spot  in 
which  she  was  seated.  After  walking  up  and 

5* 


54  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

dovn  the  cave  for  a  short  time,  she  grew  more 
tranquil ;  folding  her  hands,  she  knelt  by  the 
side  of  her  sleeping  sister,  and  prayed  for 
some  time;  then  she  threw  some  turf  upon 
the  dying  fire,  and  again  seated  herself  beside 
the  stranger.  Pious  hymns  breathed  lightly 
through  her  youthful  lips ;  as  the  simple  but 
touching  words  sank  deeper  into  her  heart 
and  warmed  her  soul,  her  voice  unconsciously 
swelled  louder  and  fuller.  The  wounded  man 
awoke.  Scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  he  listened 
to  the  sweet,  enchanting  tones,  that,  like 
wreaths  of  early  flowers,  wound  themselves 
round  and  into  his  rapidly  returning  senses, 
melting  away  the  bands  of  ice  which  sur- 
rounded his  breast,  and  stealing  into  the  hid- 
den recesses  of  his  wondering  heart. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  he  suddenly  asked,  trying 
to  rise  as  he  spoke,  while  he  put  his  hand  to 
his  wounded  head.  "  No,  no,  it  is  no  dream  ! " 
he  continued ;  and  then,  as  if  he  wished  to 
convince  himself  that  he  was  really  awake, 
he  said,  "  And  yet  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
heard  the  voice  of  Kitty." 

When  Molly  heard  him  speak,  she  sprang 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  OO 

up,  and  then  knelt  down  beside  him,  to  ascer- 
tain if  he  required  help.  The  old  man  at  that 
moment  first  became  aware  of  the  maiden's 
presence.  In  the  dim  light  which  glimmered 
from  the  fire,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
have  discerned  her  countenance  clearly.  Yet, 
as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  the  greatest  moment 
to  him  to  be  able  to  see  her  features  distinctly, 
he  leaned  forward  and  gazed  earnestly  into 
her  face.  Then,  as  if  he  feared  she  might 
suddenly  escape  him,  he  seized  her  rapidly 
with  both  hands,  drew  her  as  close  as  possible 
to  him,  and  looked  long  and  eagerly  into  her 
soft  blue  eyes,  from  which  so  much  heavenly 
sweetness,  so  much  tranquil  devotion,  shone 
upon  him.  "  Kitty !  "  he  exclaimed  at  last, 
with  a  voice  of  anguish. 

"  Kitty,  my  daughter ! "  he  breathed  once 
more  in  stifled  and  scarcely  audible  tones, 
and  then  sank  fainting  upon  the  floor. 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  Help  !  he  is  dying !  "  cried 
Molly,  wringing  her  hands.  Tortured  by  the 
most  dreadful  fear,  she  placed  her  hand  upon 
his  heart;  but  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  it  had 
already  ceased  to  beat.  Then  she  held  her 


56  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

cheek  dose  to  his  lips,  but  no  breath  gave 
evidence  that  life  yet  lingered  in  his  breast. 
In  an  agony  of  fright,  she  sprang  up,  seized  a 
bucket,  and  ran  to  the  entrance  of  the  cave. 
The  morning  had  not  yet  dawned,  and  the 
storm  was  still  raging  without,  yet  nothing 
could  stay  her  course ;  neither  the  furious 
wind,  which,  as  if  armed  with  a  thousand 
human  hands,  seized  her  upon  every  side,  and 
with  which  she  was  forced  to  battle  for  every 
step  which  she  gained  in  advance ;  nor  the 
uncertainty  and  roughness  of  the  way,  which 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  find  in  the  heavy 
gloom.  Sometimes  she  fell  down  upon  a 
jagged  stone,  and  rose  with  the  blood  stream- 
ing from  her  bruised  knee ;  sometimes  she 
fell  into  a  great  bush  of  thorns,  which  tore 
both  hands  and  face  ;  but  thinking  not  of  her 
own  pain,  she  rapidly  rose  again,  and  hurried 
on.  She  had  already  filled  the  bucket  three 
times  at  the  spring,  fortunately  guided  to  it 
by  the  noise  of  the  stream  rippling  over  the 
stones,  and  three  times  she  had  fallen  and 
spilled  the  cool  water,  but  she  would  not  re- 
linquish her  attempt.  She  would  not  despair. 


ft 

MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  57 

Again  she  filled  her  bucket,  and  with  the 
greatest  efforts,  creeping  forward,  feeling  her 
way  both  with  her  hands  and  feet,  she  at  last 
reached  the  cave  with  a  sufficient  supply  of 
the  precious  fluid.  She  softly  approached  the 
old  man,  who  was  still  lying  in  the  same  sit- 
uation in  which  she  had  left  him  ;  she  bathed 
his  temples  with  the  cool  spring-water,  but  as 
this  did  not  seem  to  produce  the  desired  effect, 
she  sprinkled  his  whole  face  with  the  fresh 
drops,  and  tried  to  make  him  swallow  some, 
— but  it  was  all  in  vain  !  She  waited  for  a 
few  moments  ;  then  she  wet  the  handkerchief 
bound  round  his  wounded  head  ;  again  she 
bathed  his  temples,  and  hope  now  began  at 
last  to  revive  for  Molly.  After  she  had  almost 
despaired  of  ever  seeing  him  restored  to  life, 
he  opened  his  firmly  closed  lips,  and  a  light 
sigh  breathed  through  them.  The  pallor  of 
death  vanished  by  slow  degrees  from  his  face; 
regular  breathings  heaved  lightly  through  his 
breast,  and  a  healthful  and  necessary  sleep 
now  seized  upon  all  his  senses.  After  Molly 
had  gazed  upon  him  attentively  for  a  long 
time,  and  had  thoroughly  convinced  herself 


58  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

that  the  crisis  of  danger  was  past,  exhausted 
by  the  physical  exertions  and  mental  agonies 
of  the  trying  night,  she,  too,  fell  into  a  deep 
slumber.  Stretched  upon  the  hard  ground, 
with  her  gentle  head  resting  upon  its  pillow 
of  stone,  her  wearied  eyelids  closed,  and  she 
softly  floated  into  the  lovely  land  of  dreams. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  Molly  awoke. 
From  the  land  of  light,  of  lovely  fantasies 
and  sunny  hopes,  of  happy  visions,  she  re- 
turned to  the  sad  world  of  reality ;  and  a  sin- 
gle glance  round  the  cavern  was  sufficient  to 
bring  before  her  memory  all  the  exciting  oc- 
currences of  the  night  just  past.  The  wound- 
ed man  was  still  asleep,  and  she  was  very 
glad  that  it  should  be  so  ;  she  would  have 
given  a  great  deal  to  have  been  certain  that 
his  sleep  would  last  until  the  return  of  her 
father,  whose  arrival  she  most  ardently  longed 
for. 

Kitty  had  been  awake  for  a  long  time,  had 
been  frightened  at  not  finding  her  sister  at 
her  side,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  do,  had 
several  times  called  her  name  lightly,  but,  re- 
ceiving no  answer,  tried  to  calm  herself  with 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  59 

the  thought  that  her  sister  had  wakened  be- 
fore her,  and  had  gone  to  the  spring  to  bring 
water  to  prepare  their  simple  meal.  But 
hearing  now  the  tread  of  light  footsteps,  she 
joyfully  stretched  out  both  arms  to  greet  the 
coming  one. 

"It  is  you,  Molly,  I  know,"  she  cried  with 
a  blissful  certainty  of  tone.  "  My  Molly,  my 
only,  my  good  sister ! "  said  she  caressingly  to 
Molly  ;  and  the  child  whom  she  had  nurtured 
as  tenderly  as  the  truest  mother  could  have 
done  pressed  her  closely  to  her  heart,  and 
covered  her  with  the  innocent  kisses  of  child- 
like love. 

"  Be  quiet,  very  quiet,  my  little  darling,  for 
you  have  not  forgotten  that  we  gave  shelter 
last  night  to  a  stranger,  who  requires  sleep, 
and  who  may  easily  be  awakened  by  your 
pleasant  chattering.  Your  breakfast  is  not 
yet  ready ;  but  if  you  will  sit  here  quite  still 
and  silent,  you  shall  not  have  to  wait  for  it 
long." 

"  Never  mind  the  breakfast,"  said  the  child ; 
"  indeed  I  am  not  very  hungry ;  and,  unless 
you  will  eat  it,  we  can  keep  the  little  piece  of 


60  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

oatmeal  bread,  so  that  our  father  may  have  a 
mouthful  of  something  to  taste  when  he  re- 
turns, hungry  and  tired,  home.  Indeed  I  am 
not  hungry,  Molly,"  asserted  Kitty  once  more, 
because  she  supposed,  from  her  sister's  silence, 
that  she  did  not  quite  believe  her  words. 

"  If  you  would  really  make  me  very  happy, 
sit  down  close  beside  me,  and  tell  me  some- 
thing out  of  the  Bible.  Tell  me  about  blind 
Tobit,  whom  the  good  God  made  see  again 
as  well  as  anybody  else,  because  he  was  good, 
patient,  and  pious ;  or  else  about  Joseph, 
whom  the  wicked  brothers  sold  into  Egypt, 
and  yet  God  made  him  great  and  powerful, 
and  he  became  the  benefactor  of  thousands  in 
a  strange  land." 

Molly  did  as  the  little  one  requested.  She 
took  her  upon  her  lap,  and  related  to  her  all 
that  she  had  asked  for.  Her  words  were  sim- 
ple, but  they  were  colored  by  the  warm,  true, 
and  pious  feelings  of  the  maiden.  From  time 
to  time  she  rose  and  slipped  to  the  side  of  the 
sick  man,  whom,  to  her  delight,  she  always 
found  asleep. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  father  must  soon  be 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  61 

here  ?  "  asked  Kitty,  after  several  hours  had 
thus  passed  away. 

"  O,  I  hope  and  wish  for  it  so  earnestly ! " 
answered  Molly. 

"  While  chattering  with  you,  I  have  quite 
forgotten  to  look  out  and  see  what  kind  of 
weather  it  is.  It  seems  to  me  the  storm  has 
raved  itself  to  rest.  Remain  here,  darling, 
near  the  bed  of  the  sick  man,  and  if,  by  the 
lightest  change  in  his  breathing,  you  think 
that  he  is  awaking,  call  my  name  loudly ;  I 
will  be  at  the  entrance,  and  will  certainly  hear 
you." 

With  these  words,  Molly  placed  Kitty  at 
the  feet  of  the  sick  stranger.  "  Do  not  forget 
you  must  sit  still,  Kitty,  and  be  sure  to  call 
me  if  he  moves,"  said  Molly  as  she  left  the 
cave. 

The  dear,  warm  rays  of  the  sun  greeted  her 
as  she  sought  the  open  air.  Only  the  light- 
est clouds,  finer  and  softer  than  any  web  ever 
woven  by  human  hands,  flitted  over  the  high 
arch  of  the  heavens,  for  ever  changing  in  form 
and  play  of  varied  light.  The  air  was  soft 
and  mild,  which  it  rarely  is  in  the  end  of 


62  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

autumn  in  Ireland,  and  upon  the  glittering 
surface  of  the  wide  sea  millions  of  white  and 
sparkling  waves  were  dancing,  like  bright  fai- 
ries and  water-spirits.  From  the  path  which 
lay  stretched  at  her  feet,  winding  now  up, 
now  down  the  cliffs,  in  a  hundred  serpent-like 
turns,  sounded,  sometimes  farther,  sometimes 
nearer,  the  tones  of  a  single  full,  clear,  and 
manly  voice.  Molly  listened  attentively,  and 
in  her  eyes,  which  reflected  back  so  truly  every 
thought  of  her  pure  soul,  glittered  a  ray  of 
hope. 

She  was  not  mistaken ;  the  tones  of  the 
dear  voice  came  ever  more  distinctly  to  her 
ears ;  she  could  even  distinguish  the  words 
which  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  unseen  singer, 
Erin  ma  Vourneen,  Erin  go  Bragh !  The 
sounds  were  close  at  hand  ;  only  a  projecting 
rock  hid  the  coming  form  from  her  searching 
eyes  ;  another  second  passed,  and,  with  a  loud 
cry  of  joy,  she  sank  upon  the  breast  of  her 
father. 

"  Father !  my  dear,  dear  father  !  "  she  cried, 
almost  breathlessly,  as  she  again  and  again 
wound  her  arms  around  him. 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  63 

O'Neil  rapidly  placed  upon  the  ground  a 
few  cooking  utensils  which  he  had  brought 
with  him,  and  a  little  bag  of  meal,  and  then 
embraced  his  daughter  with  all  the  marks  of 
the  truest  affection,  asking  her  as  many  tender 
questions  as  if  years,  in  place  of  days,  had 
passed  since,  they  parted. 

"  But  where  is  my  Kitty  ?"  said  he,  anxious- 
ly; "nothing  has  happened  to  my  poor  blind 
girl  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  dearest  father,  nothing !  The 
little  one  is  in  the  cave  ;  I  have  just  left  her, 
to  look  out  if  I  could  see  you  coming." 

"  Let  us  go  to  her  immediately  ! " 

"  Wait  a  moment !  I  am  so  glad  that  you 
are  here  already ;  I  could  scarcely  have  be- 
lieved you  would  have  returned  so  early. 
What  unexpected  good  fortune  has  brought 
you  back  so  soon,  and  so  richly  laden,  to  our 
arms  ?  " 

"  I  met  with  a  farmer  not  far  from  here, 
tolerably  well  off,  who  required  assistance  to 
dig  up  his  potatoes,  and  who  promised  me  a 
little  share  in  the  harvest-grain  if  I  would  stay 
and  help  him.  I  found  him  more  humane  than 


64  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

I  had  anticipated  in  the  beginning,  and  when 
he  saw  that  I  labored  with  all  my  might  to 
help  him,  he  willingly  granted  me  a  day  to 
visit  my  home,  and  gave  me  a  share  of  my 
wages  to  bring  with  me.  But  now  come  to 
Kitty,"  said  O'Neil,  quickly,  as  he  com- 
menced to  make  his  way  to  the  cave. 

"  Dear  father,  yet  another  word  !  You  will 
not  find  Kitty  alone  !  " 

"  Who  is  with  her,  then  ?  "  asked  O'Neil, 
astonished. 

"  An  old  man  whom  I  found  yesterday  even- 
ing near  this  place,  bleeding  and  wounded, 
who  had  probably  lost  his  way  upon  the  chase, 
and  injured  himself  through  some  unlucky 
fall." 

"  Did  you  say  he  was  an  old  man  ?  " 

"  So  he  appears  to  be,  for  the  thin  hairs 
which  scantily  cover  his  head  are  white  as 
snow;  but  whether  they  have  whitened  by 
the  frost  of  years,  or  through  the  weight  of 
cares  and  sorrows,  I  am  not  able  to  say." 

"  Have  you  no  suspicion  who  the  stranger 
may  be  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father,  I  have  more  than  a  suspicion ; 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  65 

I  know  it  certainly.  Like  a  flash  of  lightning, 
the  recognition  passed  through  my  soul,  when 
he,  after  a  long  fainting  fit,  opened  his  eyes 
and  gazed  upon  me,  although  I  have  never 
seen  him  but  once  before,  and  that  but  for  a 
flying  moment,  in  the  whole  course  of  my 
life." 

"  And  his  name  is  —  " 

"  I  know  it  not." 

"  My  child,  you  speak  in  riddles !  You 
know  the  stranger;  and  yet  you  cannot  tell 
me  his  name  ?  " 

"  And  yet  I  say  nothing  but  the  truth,  fa- 
ther!" answered  the  anxious  maiden. 

"  Lead  me,  then,  rapidly  to  him,  Molly ! 
You  fill  me  with  curiosity,  less  through  your 
mysterious  words  than  through  the  strange 
anxiety  that  speaks  in  your  excited  voice,  and 
in  every  line  of  your  quivering  face.  You  try 
in  vain  to  conceal  your  uneasiness  from  me. 
—  Can  it  possibly  be,"  said  he,  as  if  sud- 
denly overcome  by  some  dim  divination  of 
the  truth,  —  "  Can  it  be  that  —  Yet  no ;  that 
would  be  indeed  impossible ! " 

As   he    suddenly  interrupted    himself,    he 


66  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

pushed  the  hair,  with  a  restless  motioh,  from 
his  high  and  broad  brow. 

"  What  an  idea !  Only  the  vain  creation 
of  an  excited  fancy !  And  yet  if  it  were  he ! 
The  mere  thought  of  such  a  possibility  drives 
all  the  blood  back  from  my  throbbing  heart ! " 

As  he  spoke,  he  covered  his  eyes  with  both 
his  hands,  as  if  to  exclude  some  sight  of  hor- 
ror, the  view  of  which  would  blast, his  eyes 
for  ever! 

Molly  softly  approached  him,  and,  throwing 
her  arms  tenderly  round  him,  she  murmured  as 
lightly  as  if  she  feared  the  sound  or  meaning 
of  her  own  words,  — 

"  My  dear  father,  even  suppose  it  should  be 
the  man  who  drove  us  from  our  wretched 
hovel, — who  took  from  us  the  last  of  our 
miserable  possessions ;  suppose  it  should  be 
the  rich  landlord,  who,  in  addition  to  his  bar- 
barous conduct,  insulted  you  with  the  most 
shameful,  the  most  humiliating  words  ;  would 
you,  —  could  you,  render  evil  for  evil  ?  Could 
you  have  suffered  him  to  remain  exposed  to 
all  the  horrors  of  the  storm  which  raged  so 
pitilessly  yesterday,  wounded  and  dying ;  and 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  67 

would  you  have  refused  him  your  aid  ?  O  my 
father,  to  whom  I  have  always  looked  up  al- 
most as  to  one  of  the  Holy  Ones  of  heaven, 
whom  in  all  the  trying  circumstances  of  life  I 
have  always  seen  pursue  a  course  so  noble,  I 
am  sure,  very  sure,  if  you  had  been  here,  you 
too  would  have  offered  him  assistance ;  and 
your  daughter,  in  sheltering  the  unfortunate  old 
man,  in  doing  everything  to  alleviate  his  con- 
dition which  it  was  possible  for  her  to  do,  has 
only  fulfilled  the  divine  lessons  which  you  im- 
printed upon  her  heart ;  she  was  only  striving 
to  resemble  you ;  for  you  have  ever  been  her 
fairest,  highest  model,  in  the  practise  of  every 
self-sacrificing  virtue." 

For  the  first  time,  Molly  ventured  to  look 
up  to  the  face  of  her  agitated  father.  Pale, 
as  if  already  frozen  by  the  stroke  of  death,  he 
leaned  against  the  steep  cliff.  Motionless,  as 
if  becoming  part  of  the  stone  itself,  his  staring 
eyes  moved  not  in  their  strained  sockets  ;  his 
long,  flaccid  arms  hung  loosely  down  at  his 
side ;  the  spirit  seemed  about  to  leave  his 
powerful  body  for  ever! 

"  Father ! "  shrieked  Molly,  in  a  tone  of 
utter  despair. 


68  MO'.,LY    AND    KITTY. 

At  the  same  moment,  the  soft,  sweet  voice 
of  a  child  sounded  from  the  cave,  —  "  Molly ! 
my  Molly!" 

"Father!"  again  repeated  Molly,  "father! 
for  the  love  of  God,  speak !  Speak  only  one 
word  to  your  anxious  child!  Do  you  hear 
Kitty  call  me  ?  The  wounded  man  is  awake ; 
we  must  see  him ! " 

O'Neil  sank,  with  a  spasmodic  movement, 
upon  his  knees;  his  soul  seemed  to  be  en- 
gaged in  a  fearful  struggle,  for  the  large,  cold 
drops  of  sweat  covered  his  broad  brow;  he 
shuddered  and  quivered,  as  if  convulsed  by 
some  dreadful  spasm  of  agonizing  pain. 

"  O  thou  pure  Virgin  of  heaven,  thou  holy 
Mother  of  the  Son  of  God!"  he  prayed, with 
a  loud  voice  and  uplifted  hands,  "  have  mercy 
upon  me !  By  the  bitter  pain  which  pierced 
thine  own  tender  soul,  when  thou  wert  stand- 
ing under  the  dreadful  cross,  on  which  they 
crucified  thy  Holy  Son ;  by  all  the  tears  of 
agony  which  thou  must  have  shed  in  witness- 
ing his  unmitigated  torments,  have  mercy 
upon  me !  Forsake  me  not !  Leave  me  not 
ta myself,  in  this  wild  struggle  of  my  soul! 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  69 

O  Merciful  Jesus,  who  died  to  redeem  thy 
enemies,  give  me  the  power  to  forgive  the 
man  whose  fell  malice  deprived  my  own  fa- 
ther of  his  little  all ;  who  has  wounded,  in  the 
deepest  manner,  the  holiest  feelings  of  my 
heart,  and  who  was  the  cause  of  the  early 
and  painful  death  of  the  being  dearer  to  me 
far  than  my  own  life,  —  the  beloved  wife  of 
my  soul !  O,  enable  me  not  only  to  forgive, 
but  also  to  forget,  all  the  misery  this  man 
has  brought  upon  me ! " 

The  words  ceased  to  sound  from  the  agi- 
tated soul  of  O'Neil ;  but  it  was  evident  he 
still  prayed,  for  his  lips  were  quivering  with 
the  holy  thoughts.  Tears  glittered  in  his  up- 
raised eyes,  and,  as  if  he  would  stifle  all  the 
indignant  emotions  of  anger  and  revenge 
which  surged  through  the  depths  of  his  tor- 
tured being,  he  pressed  his  hand  closely 
against  his  heart,  whose  wild  beatings  were 
distinctly  heard  by  poor  Molly.  But  it  was 
now  evident  that  he  was  gradually  becoming 
more  tranquil.  Molly  knelt  close  beside  him ; 
her  head  rested  upon  his  shoulder  ;  her  ardent 
prayers  were  united  with  his,  for  she  now  for 


70  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

the  first  time  fully  understood  the  circum- 
stances in  which  she  had  placed  him.  It  was 
the  stern  and  cruel  father  of  her  mother  whom 
she  had  brought  into  the  cave ;  whom  no  en- 
treaties would  induce  to  recall  the  dreadful 
curse  which  he  had  pronounced  upon  the 
innocent  head  of  his  only  child,  and  which, 
like  a  blighting  worm  in  the  heart  of  the  sum- 
mer rose,  had  fed  upon  her  tender  life,  and, 
after  a  life  i>f  hopeless  anguish,  laid  her  in  an 
early  grave 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

"  Forgive  your  enemies." 

OUR  prayers  to  be  aided  in  the  fulfilment  of 
the  Divine  commands  are  always  heard  by 
the  Holy  One  who  gave  them. 

Molly  and  her  agitated  father  were  still 
kneeling  together  at  tHe  entrance  of  the  cave, 
when  Molly  felt  herself  suddenly  raised  from 
the  ground,  then  closely  embraced,  and,  upon 
looking  up,  she  saw  herself  in  the  arms  of  her 
grandfather,  who,  in  the  most  unexpected 
manner,  had  tottered  to  the  rude  door  of  the 
cavern. 

"  O'Neil,"  said  the  old  man,  while  his  voice 
trembled  audibly,  "  O'Neil,  I  have  heard  your 
prayer.  I  read  in  your  moistened  eyes  that 


72  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

you  have  conquered ;  and  that  no  feelings  of 
revenge  or  hatred  towards  the  man  who  has 
been  the  cause  of  all  your  misfortunes  still 
linger  in  your  soul.  I  freely  acknowledge  that 
I  have  treated  you  in  the  most  shameful  man- 
ner. The  eager  thirst  for  gold,  that,  like  a 
wicked  demon,  possessed  my  whole  being,  in- 
duced me  to  betray  your  father,  whose  firmest 
friend  I  once  was ;  it  enticed  me  on  to  wish 
to  sell,  for  my  pecuniary  advantage,  my  own 
sweet  child.  Baffled  in  this  inhuman  desire, 
I  drove  her  from  her  home,  burdened  with  my 
curse.  It  was  the  love  of  gold  which  led  me 
on  to  oppress  and  abuse  my  tenants ;  to  tor- 
ture and  drive  them,  until  I  had  put  into  my 
own  coffers  all  which  they  had  gained  by  the 
bitter  sweat  of  their  rugged  brows.  Nay,  it 
was  indeed  sometimes  from  their  very  heart's 
blood  that  my  purse  was  filled.  Tortured  by 
this  insatiable  thirst  for  money,  and  stimulated 
by  my  cruel  agent,  Wilkins,  whom  you,  O'Neil, 
had  several  times  reproved  for  his  cruelty, 
and  who  consequently  hated  you,  I  drove  you 
from  your  last  shelter,  without  suffering  my- 
self to  be  moved  by  your  manly  prayers ;  for 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  73 

Wilkins  had  already  found  another  tenant, 
who  was  willing  to  pay  a  higher  rent  for  your 
wretched  hovel.  Yet  believe,  upon  my  most 
solemn  word,  O'Neil,  that  I  have  never  trul]t 
known  you.  A  secret  and  gnawing  anguish 
has  tortured  me  for  years,  which  I  have  in 
vain  struggled  to  suppress.  Dreaming  and 
waking  was  the  face  of  my  poor  daughter 
ever  before  me ;  sometimes  pale  and  bloody, 
sometimes  in  the  full  brilliancy  of  her  youth- 
ful bloom  and  beauty.  O,  if  in  that  dreadful 
morning  in  which  I  drove  you  from  your  hut 
I  had  thrown  a  single  glance  upon  the  face  of 
the  maiden  whom  you  call  your  child,  and 
who  is  the  perfect  image  of  my  daughter,  now 
sleeping  in  the  quiet  grave,  over  which  you 
have  trained  the  long  moss  and  planted  the 
violet,  certainly  I  must  have  granted  your 
prayers,  and  all  would  have  terminated  in  a 
different  manner.  But  I  do  not  regret  it  for 
my  own  sake.  I  bless  my  fate  which  led  me 
to  this  desolate  spot ;  I  bless  the  fall  from  my 
horse,  and  the  wound  which  I  then  received. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  these  apparent  misfor- 
tunes, I  would  never  have  found  the  minister- 

7 


74  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

ing  angel  whose  sweet  compassion  was  so 
infinitely  grateful  to  me,  when  I  lay  almost 
without  consciousness  before  her ;  whose  heav- 
enly goodness  restored  me  to  life,  and  has 
given  me  back  a  far  greater  gift  than  life,  — 
the  possibility  to  love  again  ! 

"  O'Neil,"  continued  the  old  man,  while 
from  his  eyes,  which  had  long  since  almost 
forgotten  to  weep,  two  great  tears  rolled  down 
and  mingled  with  his  tufted  beard  of  snow  ;  — 
"  O'Neil,"  he  cried,  as  if  from  the  very  depths 
of  his  heart,  while  he  stretched  out  both  his 
hands  entreatingly  towards  the  man  whom  he 
had  so  deeply  injured;  —  "O'Neil,  for  the 
sake  of  this  angel,  forgive  the  hard  father  of 
your  Kitty,  whom  you  so  ardently,  so  truly 
loved,  and  whose  innocent  life  he  filled  with 
bitterness.  O,  forgive  him,  as  she  who  has 
long  since  gone  to  her  home  in  heaven  for- 
gave the  cruel  father,  upon  the  very  bed  of 
death  which  he  had  prepared  for  her,  for  the 
cruel  curses  with  which  he  had  burdened  her 
heart !  " 

Overpowered  by  a  wild  rush  of  alternating 
feelings,  O'Neil  fell  upon  the  breast  of  the 
old  man. 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  70 

"  My  Kitty !  my  Kitty !  "  he  cried,  gazing 
up  to  heaven,  while  the  gushing  tears  flooded 
his  manly  cheeks  ;  —  "  my  Kitty,  if  you  had 
only  lived  to  have  seen  this  day  !  But  be* 
witness  of  all  my  struggling,  yet  deep  feel- 
ings !  Even  as  you  prayed  for  and  blessed 
your  father  with  the  last  gasps  of  your  breath, 
so  will  I  also  forgive  him !  Now,"  said  he, 
heaving  a  deep  sigh,  and  pressing  the  tremb- 
ling hand  of  the  old  man  to  his  heart,  "  now 
all  is  forgiven  !  all  is  forgotten  !  " 

The  two  men  clasped  each  other  in  a  silent 
embrace,  full  of  holy  emotions.  Repentance 
and  forgiveness  met,  and  understood  each 
other ! 

Full  of  the  highest  happiness,  Molly  went 
to  the  cave  to  bring  her  sister  out,  who,  tired 
of  remaining  so  long  alone,  had  already  groped 
her  way  to  the  entrance. 

"  Come,  Kitty,  come,"  said  she  joyously,  as 
she  took  the  little  one  in  her  arms,  "  O,  come 
quickly,  for  we  have  found  our  grandfather ! " 

"  Our  grandfather  ?  "  answered  the  aston- 
ished child ;  "  you  seem  so  rejoiced,  Molly, 
that  it  must  be  a  very  pleasant  thing  to  have 
found  our  grandfather !  " 


76  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

"  O,  very,  very  pleasant ! "  answered  Molly, 
and  then  gave  the  little  blind  girl  into  the 
arms  of  the  old  man,  who  pressed  her  to  his 
Jaeart,  and  kissed  her.  Therrtie  said  rapidly  : 
"  Now  let  us  all  hasten  away  from  this  des- 
olate, frightful  place ;  and  it  shall  henceforth 
be  my  only  care  to  make  you  forget  all  the 
unspeakable  misery  you  have  suffered  through 
my  cruelty." 

Molly  and  O'Neil  again  entered  the  cave, 
to  bid  farewell  to  their  strange  place  of  ref- 
uge. Molly  looked  gratefully  round,  as  if  to 
thank  it  for  the  shelter  it  had  afforded  them. 

Soon  the  whole  four  were  on  their  happy 
way  together  home.  Their  path  passed  by 
the  hovels  whose  inmates  had  evinced  so 
much  kind  feeling  towards  the  banished  fam- 
ily ;  and  they  found  there  a  man  who,  upon  a 
promise  of  good  pay  from  the  landlord,  was 
willing  to  take  them  home  in  his  little  one- 
horse  wagon.  Towards  evening  they  reached 
the  handsome  house  of  the  grandfather.  The 
old  housekeeper  came  rushing  out  to  meet 
them,  perfectly  astonished  to  see  her  master, 
whose  return  she  had  awaited  with  the  most 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  77 

dreadful  anxiety  during  the  -whole  of  the 
stormy  night  now  past,  and  whom  she  never 
thought  again  to  have  seen  alive,  as  his  horse, 
covered  with  fdtm  and  blood,  had  returned 
home  without  a  rider.  She  was  also  very 
much  surprised  at  the  little  band  of  strangers 
who  accompanied  the  old  man.  She  turned 
herself  right  and  left  in  her  confusion,  without 
exactly  knowing  what  kind  of  welcome  she 
was  to  offer  the  new  guests,  who,  although 
scarcely  covered  with  their  miserable  rags,  yet 
through  their  noble  bearing  and  appearance 
inspired  respect.  At  last  the  old  man  said  to 
her,  in  a  more  friendly  tone  than  she  had  ever 
before  heard  from  his  lips :  "  Make  haste, 
Mary !  Prepare  the  very  best  you  have  in  the 
house,  for  I  intend  to  celebrate  this  evening 
the  happiest  festival  of  my  whole  life  !  " 

He  then  dismounted  from  the  wagon,  and 
placed  himself  upon  the  threshold  of  his  own 
door,  to  welcome  his  new  inmates,  whom  he 
begged,  individually,  upon  their  entran3e,  to 
consider  the  house  and  everything  in  it  as 
their  own. 

"  Oh ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  led  them  in,  and 


78  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

gazed  in  the  soft  eyes  of  Molly,  "  how  poor 
was  I,  until  this  moment,  although  surrounded 
by  so  much  wealth  !  and  how  truly  rich  have 
you  always  been,  although^ln  the  midst  of 
such  bitter  poverty,  in  the  sweetness  of  your 
holy  love !  How  warmly  my  heart  beats  to- 
day !  how  full  it  is  of  happy  feelings  !  Like 
a  tree  blasted  by  lightning,  I  have  stood 
stripped  and  desolate  in  the  arid  desert  my 
own  faults  had  made  for  me,  almost  afraid  to 
gaze  around  me.  But  I  have  grown  young 
again  in  your  embracing  arms ;  for  the  first 
time  since  I  cursed  my  poor  Kitty,  does  it 
seem  to  me  a  joy  to  live ! " 


CHAPTER   V. 


KITTY. 


"  Then  said  Raphael,  I  know,  Tobias,  that  thy  father  will  open  his  eyef." 

THE  old  man  had  spoken  truly.  A  thou- 
sand joys  of  which  he  had  never  thought 
before,  whose  delight  he  had  never  even 
divined,  bloomed  in  his  lonely  heart.  As 
long  as  he  should  live,  it  was  his  wish  that 
the  family  should  continue  to  reside  with 
him  ;  and  Molly  was  to  become  the  guardian 
angel  of  the  neighboring  poor.  She  did  not 
wait  until  they  begged  her  assistance ;  she 
gave  it  unasked  for  to  those  who  required  it. 
She  was  a  daily  visitor  in  their  humble  homes, 
and  when  want  and  necessity  were  at  last 
banished  by  her  efforts,  she  taught  the  poor 
economy  and  neatness,  through  the  beauty  of 
her  own  example. 


80 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 


Wilkins,  the  cruel  agent,  was  placed  in  a 
situation  in  which  he  could  injure  no  one ; 
but  no  revenge  was  wreaked  upon  him.  He 
was  not  punished  ;  he  was  pPmitted  to  retain 
his  house  and  field,  and  a  great  portion  of  his 
former  income.  But  his  position  as  agent 
was  given  to  one  whom  O'Neil  had  long 
known  as  a  good,  kind,  and  just  man,  entirely 
incapable  of  any  act  of  cruelty. 

During  three  peaceful  years,  the  old  land- 
lord continued  to  enjoy  his  quiet  life  of  do- 
mestic bliss.  He  died  tranquilly  in  the  arms 
of  his  son-in-law,  to  whom  he  gave  the  whole 
of  his  estate.  O'Neil  and  his  daughters  soon 
after  left  this  property  in  the  charge  of  a  good 
overseer,  to  whom  the  strongest  commands 
were  given  never  to  drive  or  distress  any  of 
the  tenants  on  account  of  their  being  in  ar- 
rears for  rent.  O'Neil  was  exceedingly  de- 
sirous to  visit  the  property  which  had  been 
for  many,  many  years  in  the  possession  of 
his  own  family,  where  he  had  played  through 
the  glad  days  of  his  happy  childhood,  and 
which,  through  the  wonderful  providence  of  a 
kind  God,  he  could  again  call  his  own. 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  81 

A  far  more  lovely  landscape  surrounded 
Molly,  so  susceptible  to  all  the  beauties  with 
which  Nature  decks  the  earth.  Rich  grain- 
fields  waved  around  her ;  fertile  meadows, 
with  their  deep-green  carpets  overgrown  with 
many-colored  flowers,  lay  at  her  feet ;  and 
orchards,  in  which  the  sunny-hued  fruit  bur- 
dened the  laden  branches  until  they  kissed 
the  ground,  greeted  her  happy  walks.  Under 
the  direction  of  O'Neil,  a  row  of  neat  dwell- 
ing-houses rose  around  them,  the  occupants 
of  which  became  far  more  economical  and  in- 
dustrious, when  they  saw  that  part  of  the  fruit 
of  their  labors  was  for  themselves  and  their 
children,  and  that  the  landlord  had  no  idea  of 
appropriating  the  whole  of  their  hard  earn- 
ings to  his  own  use.  How  happy  was  Molly, 
when  she  saw  these  healthful  and  powerful 
men,  from  whose  bronzed  faces  content  and 
happiness  smiled,  and  who  were  now  neither 
wretched  nor  oppressed,  returning  with  cheer- 
ful songs  to  their  expectant  wives  and  playful 
children ! 

Still  a  heavy  cloud  sometimes  rested  upon 
her  fair  young  brow.  Not  seldom  gushed  the 


82  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

hot  tears  down  her  now  rosy  cheeks,  when 
she  looked  upon  Kitty,  who,  as  she  grew 
older,  appeared  to  feel  more  and  more  deeply 
the  many  renunciations  which  the  want  of 
sight  inflicted  upon  her.  The  melancholy 
plaints  of  the  little  girl  pained  her  affectionate 
heart.  Nothing  could  be  more  touching  than 
to  hear  Kitty  say, — 

"  O  Molly,  if  I  could  only  see  you  and 
my  father,  —  only  once !  only  once !  —  I  would 
ask  no  more !  I  would  gaze  upon  you  until 
I  had  imprinted  every  line  of  your  face  upon 
my  soul,  and  then  I  would  cheerfully  close 
my  eyes  again  in  their  dreary  darkness,  — 
close  them  for  ever,  Molly,  with  your  image 
in  my  heart !  " 

One  day,  when  Molly  was  visiting  a  school 
which  she  had  established  for  the  instruction 
of  the  poor  in  basket-weaving  and  other  light 
arts,  she  heard  a  beggar,  whom  she  had  at 
various  times  assisted,  telling  many  wonderful 
things  about  a  young  physician  who  had  lately 
established  himself  in  a  neighboring  town, 
and  who,  according  to  his  account,  had  already 
restored  many  blind  people  to  sight.  She  re- 


MOLLY    AND    KI'iTY.  83 

mained  standing  by  the  threshold,  absorbed 
in  the  deepest  attention,  as  long  as  ^he  narra- 
tion lasted.  She  then  approached  him  rapidly, 
and,  while  her  heart  beat  high  with  expecta- 
tion and  new-born  hope,  she  said, — 

"  Tell  me,  I  beg  of  you,  tell  me  if  what 
you  have  been  relating  is  indeed  the  truth  ? 
If  it  is  really  true,  if  my  little  sister  should 
receive  her  sight,  I  would  never  forget  that 
I  had  first  heard  of  this  happy  possibility 
through  you;  and,  full  of  gratitude  to  you, 
I  would  take  care  of  you  as  long  as  your  life 
should  last." 

"  Certainly,  all  I  have  said  is  true,"  an- 
swered the  old  beggar.  "  I  have  seen  little 
Jack  sitting  at  the  church  door  as  blind  as  a 
post,  and  now  he  sees  as  bright  and  clear  as 
anybody  who  has  always  had  two  good,  sound 
eyes  in  his  head." 

Molly  ran  directly  to  her  father  with  this 
joyful  news.  But  her  father  shook  his  head, 
and  said  earnest  y  to  her,  — 

"  Do  not  suffer  this  sweet  hope  to  take 
such  entire  possession  of  you,  my  kind  child ! 
Above  all,  say  nothing  about  it  to  Kitty ;  for 


84  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

the  poor  little  blind  girl  would  suffer  tenfold 
more  if  she  should  nourish  such  a  hope,  and 
be  doomed  to  meet  with  a  bitter  disappoint- 
ment. Yet  it  is  possible  it  may  succeed ! 
Kitty  was  not  born  blind  ;  she  was  more  than 
a  year  old  when  she  lost  her  sight." 

When  he  saw  how  deeply  Molly  was  dis- 
tressed by  his  want  of  faith  in  the  possibility 
of  Kitty's  restoration  to  sight,  he  tried  to  calm 
her  anxiety,  and  continued,  — 

"  If  it  should  succeed,  Molly,  who  would  be 
happier,  who  would  be  more  grateful  to  the 
good  God  above,  than  myself?  I  would  joy- 
fully give  up  the  half  of  my  property,  nay, 
the  whole  of  it,  Molly,  to  open  again  the 
sightless  eyes  of  our  poor  little  Kitty!  We 
will  set  out  to-morrow,  at  the  earliest  dawn 
of  day,  to  seek  the  physician  who  has  given 
sight  to  the  blind  !  " 

The  sun  had  not  yet  entirely  risen,  when 
Molly,  after  a  sleepless  night,  was  already 
stirring  through  the  house,  making  the  neces- 
sary preparations  for  their  contemplated  jour- 
ney. She  hurried  on  everything  with  as  much 
eagerness  as  if  her  life  depended  upon  the 


MOLLY    A.STD    KITTY.  85 

loss  of  a  single  hour,  and  succeeded  in  stimu- 
lating the  slow  coachman  to  an  extraordinary 
rapid  gait  in  comparison  with  his  usually 
slow  pace.  The  carriage  rolled  down  the  hill 
upon  which  the  house  was  built  just  as  the 
first  glittering  rays  of  the  sun  filled  the  valley 
with  their  rosy  light.  Molly  held  her  little 
sister  in  her  arms.  Sometimes  she  pressed  her 
wildly,  as  if  in  fear,  to  her  breast ;  sometimes 
she  looked  long  and  deeply  into  her  large,  sad 
eyes,  as  if  it  would  be  possible  to  read  in 
them  the  success  or  failure  of  the  contem- 
plated experiment.  Tortured  by  the  most 
restless  impatience,  she  asked  the  old  beggar 
(who  had  taken  his  seat  by  the  coachman  to 
show  him  the  way)  every  five  minutes  if  they 
were  not  almost  there. 

"  We  soon  will  be  !  We  soon  will  be  ! " 
was  his  dry  answer ;  but  to  the  excited  Molly, 
so  full  of  hope  and  fear,  this  word  "soon" 
seemed  to  cover  an  eternity.  Always  so 
merciful,  both  to  man  and  beast,  she  would 
not  spare  a  single  moment  to  the  poor  horses 
to  rest. 

"  Only  drive  on !  —  drive  on  I "  she  begged ; 

8 


86 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 


"  the  poor,  tired  horses  shall  have  a  good 
rest  and  plenty  of  food  after  we  are  once 
there ! " 

In  vain  Kitty  asked  where  they  were  going, 
what  was  the  aim  of  their  journey,  and  what 
made  Molly  so  impatient.  "  You  will  soon 
know  all  about  it,"  was  the  only  answer  she 
received.  At  last  —  at  last  —  the  travellers 
stopped  before  the  house  pointed  out  by  the 
beggar ! 

They  found  the  physician  to  be  a  young 
and  amiable  man,  who,  after  a  short  examina- 
tion of  the  sightless  eyes,  said  he  felt  certain 
the  operation  would  succeed,  and  that  it  would 
prove  neither  difficult  nor  dangerous.  But  he 

said  he  would  not  like  to  undertake  it  until 

•« 

Kitty  had  been  for  a  few  days  under  his  care. 

The  few  days  demanded  by  the  young 
physician  were  soon  over.  Resting  in  the 
powerful  arms  of  her  father,  with  Molly 
standing  pale  and  trembling  by  her  side, 
Kitty  awaited  the  eventful  operation. 

"  You  need  not  be  afrafd,  my  little  angel," 
said  the  doctor,  consolingly ;  "  I  will  not  hurt 
you  much." 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  87 

"Oh!  even  if  it  should  hurt  me  very  much," 
answered  the  gentle  child,  "  what  pain  could 
possibly  equal  the  bliss  which  I  expect  to  re- 
ceive from  your  skilful  hands  ?  To  see  my 
father,  and  my  Molly,  —  my  Molly!  —  how 
long  have  I  yearned  with  a  sick  heart  to  see 
my  Molly!" 

The  physician  raised  his  hand,  —  touched 
the  darkened  eyeballs.  A  loud  shriek  of  joy, 
—  another  and  another,  —  announced  the  com- 
plete success  of  the  delicate  operation.  But 
Kitty  was  forced  to  conquer  her  wild  longing 
to  gaze  on  the  faces  she  loved ;  for  after  a 
single  fleeting  second,  the  physician  carefully 
bound  a  thick  band  of  linen  round  her  head, 
that  the  tender  organs  might  become  grad- 
ually accustomed  to  the  light  and  air. 

No  pen  could  describe  her  rapture,  when, 
after  the  removal  of  the  veiling  band,  she  lay 
for  the  first  time  with  the  full  power  of  sight 
in  the  arms  of  her  loved  ones  !  Tenderly  and 
lovingly,  she  embraced  them  again  and  again ; 
now  she  gazed  into  the  joy-raying  eyes  of  her 
happy  father, — now  into  the  deep,  blue,  tender 
eyes  of  the  beloved  Molly,  —  as  if  to  make 


88  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

up,  in  the  fulness  of  her  bliss,  for  the  long 
time  she  had  been  deprived  of  this  source  of 
delight.  Then  she  suddenly  turned  round  to 
the  young  physician  who  was  standing  be- 
hind her,  and  who  had  been  deeply  touched 
by  this  exciting  scene. 

"  How  shall  I  thank  you  ?  "  she  cried,  press- 
ing his  hand  to  her  innocent  lips,  which  he 
vainly  struggled  to  withdraw.  "  O,  let  me 
kiss  your  hand,"  she  softly  prayed,  "  let  me 
kiss  the  dear  hand  which  has  enabled  me  to 
see  my  father  and  my  Molly ;  and  tell  us  how 
we  can  make  you  happy !  We  can  offer  you 
no  fitting  reward;  for  what  price  would  be 
sufficient  to  pay  you  for  the  benefit  you  have 
conferred  upon  us  ?  Only  some  pledge  of 
our  eternal  gratitude,  some  sign  of  undying 
remembrance  from  the  family  whom  you  have 
made  so  blessed,  ought  we  to  give  you  !  " 

The  young  man  bent  down  to  hide  his  tears, 
kissed  the  grateful  child,  and  murmured  light- 
ly: "  Your  joy,  Kitty,  which  has  rendered  this 
hour  the  happiest  of  my  whole  life,  and  whose 
remembrance  will  always  be  dear  to  my  heart, 
has  already  been  to  me  a  high  and  holy  re- 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  89 

ward !  But,"  he  continued,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
audible,  and  broken  by  emotion,  "  there  is  a 
still  higher,  a  still  dearer  reward,  which  I 
would  willingly  owe  to  your  prayers  for  me, 
Kitty !  Ask  your  dear  father  to  receive  me 
as  his  son !  Ask  the  beloved  sister  if  she  will 
trust  the  happiness  of  her  life  in  my  hands ! 
Kitty,  plead  for  me  ! " 

He  could  say  no  more ;  he  was  choked  by 
his  emotions.  But  Molly  had  understood  his 
broken  words  ;  covered  with  blushes,  she  flew 
to  her  father,  who  took  her  by  the  unresisting 
hand,  and  tenderly  led  her  to  the  young  phy- 
sician. 

"  You  have,  indeed,  chosen  the  most  pre- 
cious reward,"  said  O'Neil,  "yet  I  willingly 
give  it  to  you,  for  you  seem  to  me  to  be  a 
man  of  noble  character.  The  manner  in 
which  you  practise  your  benevolent  art  is  the 
surest  proof  to  me  of  your  kind  heart !  " 

"  Dare  I  hope  that  your  cherished  daughter 
does  not  withhold  her  consent  ?  "  asked  the 
young  man,  with  trembling  voice,  as  he  plead- 
ingly, yet  tenderly,  took  the  hand  of  the 
maiden. 

8" 


90  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

Candid  as  she  always  was,  Molly  answered 
softly  :  "  In  restoring  my  little  sister  to  sight, 
you  have  made  me  very  happy ;  yet  I  must 
frankly  confess  that  it  is  not  gratitude  alone 
which  binds  me  to  you.  Another  voice  speaks 
to  me  in  the  depths  of  my  soul,  —  the  voice  of 
affection  ;  it  whispers  me  that  you  deserve  my 
confidence.  Could  you  possibly  deceive  me  ?  " 

Then  the  young  man  raised  his  hand,  as  if 
to  take  a  solemn  oath. 

"  Never !  never !  "  with  clear  and  loud,  yet 
solemn  and  tender  tone,  he  said.  "  Nothing 
shall  ever  part  me  from  thee,  no  change  in 
destiny  shall  sever  me  from  thy  side  !  I  feel 
within  myself  the  strength  to  offer  everything 
up  for  thee,  to  conquer  all  things  through  my 
love  for  thee !  Thy  holy  confidence  in  me 
shall  never  be  deceived !  Undying  love  and 
tenderness  for  thee,  my  Molly,  shall  ever  fill 
the  heart  in  which  thou  hast  trusted ! " 

He  nobly  kept  his  plighted  word;  and  Molly 
never  had  any  cause  to  repent  of  the  confi- 
dence which  she  had  reposed  in  him. 

O'Neil  lived  to  attain  a  great  age.      He 


MOLLY    AND    KITTY.  91 

lived  to  see  little  Kitty  married  to  an  excel- 
lent young  man,  who  managed  his  estate  with 
the  greatest  care,  when  he  grew  too  old  and 
weak  to  attend  to  it  himself.  And  when  at 
last  the  death-angel  came  to  call  him  to  a 
higher  life  above,  he  blessed  with  his  dying 
voice  his  sons,  his  daughters,  and  his  grand- 
children. But  the  last  pressure  of  the  stiffen- 
ing hand,  the  last  words  from  the  lips  that 
were  to  open  no  more  on  earth,  were  for  his 
own  Molly. 

"  Molly,"  he  painfully  sighed,  "  I  can  see 
thy  sweet  face  no  longer,  for  my  eyes  are 
darkened  by  the  night  of  death,  but  thy  im- 
age still  floats  before  my  parting  soul.  Thou 
wert  my  consolation  and  support  when  the 
hand  of  the  Lord  rested  heavily  upon  me. 
Thy  confidence  that  all  would  yet  be  well 
never  wavered  ;  thy  gentleness  and  thy  love- 
liness touched  and  softened  the  heart  of  the 
long  defiant  one,  who  had  before  scorned  all 
the  warnings  sent  from  Heaven,  and  changed 
his  angry  hatred  into  wonder  and  love  ! 

"  Next  to  God,  from  whom  all  good  gifts 
come,  I  thank  thee,  my  dearly  beloved  child, 


92  MOLLY    AND    KITTY. 

that  the  rough  and  thorny  path  of  my  life  was 
changed  into  an  earthly  paradise,  which  leads 
to  heaven!  Molly!  my  Molly!  may  thy  chil- 
dren resemble  thee,  and  make  thee  as  happy 
as  thou  hast  made  thy  father !  " 


THE  YOUNG  ARTIST. 


* 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  GUARDIAN  ANGEL  AND  THE  SPIRIT  OF  MUSIC. 

"  Like  rainbows  o'er  a  cataract,  Music's  tones 
Played  round  the  dazzling  spirit." 

THE  evening  bells  were  loudly  ringing  in 
the  little  town  of  Geremberg.  Troops  of 
busy  workmen  were  hastening  home  from  the 
neighboring  fields  and  gardens,  while  children, 
with  merry  shouts,  were  driving  herds  of  cat- 
tle, droves  of  sheep,  and  domestic  poultry, 
and  their  clear  and  joyous  laughter  migj 
heard  far  above  the  lowing  of  the  weary 
or  the  shjUl  hissing  and  cackling  of  the  num- 
berless flocks  of  noisy  ducks  and  geese.  The 
barking  of  dogs,  with  the  hoarse  oaths  and 
gruff  voices  of  the  drovers,  added  to  the  gen- 
eral din.  Wagons  heavily  laden  with  pro- 
visions, drawn  sometimes  by  four,  sometimes 


96  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

by  six  horses,  rolled  wearily  along,  but  the 
pleasant  anticipation  of  rest  at  the  neighbor- 
ing inn,  and  the  recollection  of  its  well-filled 
crib,  urged  the  exhausted  steeds  to  new  efforts 
of  their  almost  failing  strength.  The  lighter 
farm-carts,  full  of  sweet  hay  or  perfumed 
clover,  upon  which  lay  the  rosy-cheeked  farm- 
boys  almost  buried  in  their  beds  of  fragrance, 
easily  passed  these  lumbering  trains.  With 
his  coarse  boots  fastened  to  the  dusty  wallet 
which  hung  upon  his  back,  and  his  feet 
wrapped  round  with  bloody  bands  of  dusty 
linen,  the  tired  wanderer  limped  painfully  on, 
carefully  selecting  the  grass  which  grew  along 
the  edge  of  the  footpath,  because  its  fresh  and 
dewy  growth  soothed  and  cooled  the  burning 
of  his  blistered  and  wounded  feet. 

All  were  seeking  the  same  goal,  all  moving 
towards  the  little  town  from  whose  glimmering 
windows  the  hospitable  lights  already  began 
to  gleam  through  the  deepening  twilight, 
although  a  rosy  and  still  glowing  pile  of 
clouds  on  the  verge  of  the  western  horizon 
yet  waved  a  farewell  greeting  from  the  part- 
ing sun. 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  97 

The  highways  were  soon  deserted,  and  the 
whole  neighborhood  was  quiet.  Only  a  soli- 
tary woman  was  now  to  be  seen  slowly 
moving  along  the  pathway  ;  she  seemed  very 
much  tired,  and,  seating  herself  upon  the 
ground,  she  took  a  heavy  basket  from  her 
back,  and  carefully  unbound  the  cloth  which 
was  knotted  over  it.  She  then  looked  cau- 
tiously around  her  in  every  direction ;  scarcely 
breathing,  in  the  earnestness  of  her  search,  no 
nook  or  corner  escaped  the  prying  eagerness 
of  her  gaze.  A  dead  silence  reigned  around, 
only  broken  by  a  confused  murmur  from  the 
town  and  the  distant  barking  of  dogs.  Twi- 
light was  entirely  over,  and  a  few  stars  only 
twinkled  in  the  skies.  The  woman  then  rose 
from  the  ground,  carefully  hid  her  basket  in  a 
little  ditch,  after  having  taken  a  thickly  veiled 
object  from  it,  which  she  carried  in  her  arms  to 
a  thicket  of  hazel-bushes,  which  separated  a 
piece  of  meadow  ground  from  a  field  newly 
ploughed.  She  laid  the  veiled  object  softly 
down  in  the  high  grass,  and  was  hastening 
rapidly  away,  when  the  screams  of  a  child 
were  heard  proceeding  from  the  hazel-bushes. 

9 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

Without  once  looking  behind  her,  the  woman 
continued  to  hurry  on,  but  the  screams  of  the 
child  grew  louder  and  louder,  and  forced  her, 
however  reluctant  she  might  be,  to  return. 
With  her  hand  threateningly  raised  over  the 
child,  and  her  voice  full  of  stifled  rage,  she 
cried,  — 

"  Will  you  quit  screaming  instantly,  you 
little  screech-owl?  If  you  don't,  I'll  whip 
you  soundly ! " 

"  Do  —  do  —  take  itty  boy  ! "  sobbed  the 
lisping  accents  of  a  child's  voice. 

"  Be  quiet,  and  don't  dare  to  stir  from 
this  spot,  and  go  to  sleep  immediately. 
Do  you  hear?  Or  —  " 

A  heavy  blow  accompanied  this  threat 
The  child  gave  a  loud  shriek,  but  soon  sup- 
pressed his  cries ;  even  his  faint  sobs  grew 
by  degrees  less  and  less  audible,  until  at  last 
no  evidence  was  given  that  he  still  lived. 
The  woman  remained  in  the  bushes,  sitting 
beside  the  child  whom  she  had  carried  from 
her  basket  to  that  secluded  spot. 

It  grew  darker  and  darker,  and  the  timid 
child  anxiously  seized  the  rough  hand  which 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  99 

had  just  beaten  him  ;  as  he  had  been  told  to 
go  to  sleep,  he  closed  his  eyes  in  fear  and 
trembling,  and  soon  sunk  to  rest.  As  he  slept 
tranquilly  and  soundly,  the  grasp  of  the 
twining  fingers  grew  looser,  the  little  hand 
opened,  while  the  woman  drew  hers  from  the 
clinging  clasp,  and  lightly,  gently,  and  noise- 
lessly slipped  away.  With  flying  feet,  she 
hastened  back  to  the  place  in  which  she  had 
left  her  basket,  fastened  it  quickly  upon  her 
back,  and,  as  if  able  to  pierce  the  surrounding 
gloom,  threw  a  searching  glance  in  every 
direction,  and  then,  as  if  goaded  by  the  fell 
fiends  of  a  wicked  conscience,  rapidly  fled 
along  the  highway  upon  which  she  had  first 
appeared.  She  soon  vanished  in  the  dark- 
ness of  night. 

The  forsaken  child  slumbered  softly  on. 
The  bright  stars  looked  inquiringly  through 
the  leaves,  and  mirrored  themselves  in  the 
tears  which  still  hung  on  the  long  eyelashes 
of  the  little  sleeper.  A  flashing  gleam  of 
white  light  suddenly  broke  in  through  the 
clustering  leaves  of  the  hazel-bushes. 

A  glittering  form  stood  at  the  side  of  the 


YOUNG    ARTIST. 

helpless  infant1;  site  spread  her  arms  over  him 
as  if  to  bless  him,  and,  bending  lightly  down 
to  him,  she  imprinted  a  long  and  lingering 
kiss  upon  his  pale,  broad  brow.  The  child 
smiled  even  in  his  sleep,  and  longingly 
stretched  out  his  arms  towards  the  form  of 
light  which  still  continued  to  bend  fondly  o'er 
him.  She  stroked  the  clustering  curls  tenderly 
back  from  the  spot  which  she  had  just  touched 
with  her  lips,  and  the  pale  brow  glittered  and 
gleamed  with  the  bright  yet  mild  radiance, 
which,  like  a  light  seen  through  a  vase  of  ala- 
baster, seemed  to  pervade  her  own  aerial  figure. 
She  shone,  as  if  the  holy  starlight  had  been 
condensed  into  a  human  form  to  bless  and 
consecrate  the  helpless  innocent.  Lightly  and 
gently  she  passed  her  transparent  hand  over 
the  sleeping  child. 

Suddenly  a  mighty  angel,  with  wings  of 
pure  and  dazzling  lustre,  stood  at  the  head  of 
the  little  sleeper. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  with  the  little 
immortal  whom  the  Holy  One  has  committed 
to  my  care  ?  "  said  the  angel,  earnestly,  to  the 
spirit,  who  glittered  as  if  made  of  starlight. 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  101 

"  I  have  consecrated  the  poor  forsaken  boy 
as  my  high-priest.  I  have  kissed  his  pure 
brow,  breathed  the  joy  of  art  into  his  young 
soul,  and  thus  secured  his  earthly  bliss.  Do 
you  not  recognize  me,  holy  angel?  I  am  the 
Spirit  of  Music ! " 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  well,"  answered  the 
earnest  angel.  "  But  I  know,  too,  that  if  your 
gifts  often  lead  to  heaven,  they  sometimes 
also  lead  to  hell !  Alas !  how  many  of  those 
whom  I  once  loved  are  now  forced  to  mourn 
that  you  ever  accorded  to  them  your  protec- 
tion, since  your  gift  has  only  led  them  to  the 
home  of  the  fallen  angels !  " 

The  starry  form  reproachfully  answered: 
"  Am  I,  then,  justly  responsible  for  the  evils 
which  result  from  the  ruined  nature  of  man  ? 
The  source  of  music  springs  in  heaven  !  Do 
not  the  angels  strike  the  harp,  and  sing  eter- 
nal praises  round  the  high  throne  of  God 
himself?" 

"  They  do,  and  I  cannot  justly  complain  of 
you,"  answered  the  guardian  angel.  "  Your 
gift  is  indeed  a  godlike  one,  but  it  is  also  full 
of  danger.  Men  are  very  frail ;  and  pride 

9* 


102  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

and  vanity  are  the  evil  germs  which  lie  con- 
cealed in  every  human  breast.  To  uproot 
these  dangerous  germs,  to  guard  against  their 
injurious  growth,  is  our  never-ending,  yet  often 
thankless,  occupation  ;  for  the  Angel  of  Dark- 
ness works  against  us,  cultivating  and  foster- 
ing all  that  we  have  condemned.  Unfortu- 
nately, he  often  gains  the  victory ;  for  as  the 
will  of  man  is  free,  it  depends  chiefly  upon 
himself  whether  he  will  embrace  Light  or 
Darkness.  If  the  Evil  One  conquers,  veiling 
our  faces  in  sorrow,  we  sadly  turn  away,  and 
are  forced  to  leave  our  beloved  charge  for  ever. 
What  is  more  calculated  to  cultivate  pride  or 
vanity  than  any  extraordinary  gift  which  dis- 
tinguishes man  above  his  fellows  ?  Thus  I 
am  forced  to  repeat,  that  your  glorious  present 
is  still  a  dangerous  one,  which  may  easily 
become  a  stumbling-block,  a  stone  of  offence, 
upon  which  the  immortal  spirit  may  be 
wrecked  for  ever.  For  man  is  only  too  apt 
to  become  vain  and  presumptuous,  to  prefer 
himself  to  the  great  Giver  of  all  faculties  and 
tfts,  and,  in  the  excess  of  his  arrogance,  to 
.  rget  the  Holy  One,  to  whom  all  thanks  and 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  103 

all  honor  are  justly  due,  to  whose  high  service 
thou,  O  glittering  Spirit  of  Music!  hast  ever 
been  firmly  attached !  Thou  seest  now  why 
I  tremble  for  the  soul  of  this  forsaken  in- 
fant!" 

"  Thou  art  his  guardian  spirit,  and  it  is 
best  it  should  be  so !  Guard  him,  then,  in 
such  a  way  that  he  shall  not  be  fed  upon 
vanity,  that  he  shall  early  learn  to  walk  in 
the  paths  of  religion,  which  also  lead  to  the 
highest  art.  O  no !  no !  Fold  thy  white 
and  shining  wings  closely  around  him  !  My 
kiss  will  not  lead  him  to  destruction ;  it  shall 
only  brighten  the  rough  and  dark  path  of  life 
for  his  tender  heart !  I  have  consecrated  him 
to  art;  do  then  thy  part,  and  educate  him 
for  heaven  !  Guard  him  well,  for  my  kiss  has 
made  him  sacred  !  We  meet  again  !  Fare- 
well ! " 

The  star-bright  spirit  vanished;  but  the 
earnest  angel  knelt  in  prayer  beside  the  de- 
serted boy,  covering  the  fragile  body,  that  the 
baneful  night-dews  might  not  destroy  it,  with 
the  glittering  and  snowy,  yet  warm  and  ten- 
der, sweep  of  the  drooping,  sheltering  wings. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WALTER  AND  MOTHER  BOPP. 

"  Women  are  soft,  mild,  pitiable,  flexible  ; 
But  thou  art  obdurate,  flinty,  rough,  remorseless." 

CLEAR  and  bright  rose  the  sun  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning.  The  birds  warbled,  and  the 
mowers  were  whetting  their  scythes  in  the 
fields.  A  butcher's  boy  from  the  town,  occu- 
pied in  the  business  of  his  master,  was  going, 
accompanied  by  his  large  dog,  to  the  neighbor- 
ing village,  and  thought  it  best  to  take  the 
short  cut  through  the  meadow.  But  the  dog 
suddenly  ran  to  the  little  copse  of  hazel- 
bushes,  shoved  his  shaggy  head  deep  in 
among  the  leaves,  growled,  and  then  sprang 
barking  back  to  his  master,  rapidly  bounded 
off  again  to  the  thicket,  and  did  everything 
in  his  power  to  awaken  the  attention  of  his 
owner. 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  105 

"  Something  must  certainly  be  in  there," 
thought  the  boy,  as  he  hurried  to  the  spot 
where  the  dog  was  still  standing  and  barking, 
to  see  if  he  could  discover  anything.  He 
drew  the  branches  asunder,  looked  carefully 
around  him,  and  at  last  saw  a  sleeping  child. 

"  What  can  be  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  " 
he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  pressed  into  the 
thicket.  "  The  deuce  take  me  if  it  is  n't  a 
poor  forsaken  child!  There  seems  to  be  a 
card  or  a  letter  pinned  upon  his  breast.  The 
mother  who  could  do  such  a  wicked  thing 
must  have  had  the  heart  of  a  vulture !  What 
a  beautiful  little  fellow !  Can  the  poor  little 
rascal  have  spent  the  whole  night  here  ?  I 
suppose  he  has,  for  he  looks  blue  and  frozen 
with  the  cold !  What  am  I  to  do  with  him  ? 
If  he  should  waken  up  and  cry,  it  would  drive 
me  crazy,  for  I  am  sure  I  would  n't  know  how 
to  quiet  him.  Oh !  now  I  know  what  to  do 
with  him !  I  will  run  back  to  the  town  and 
tell  the  squire  about  it,  for  the  child  is  lying 
between  his  two  fields ;  he  has  plenty,  and 
will  take  care  of  him.  I  will  leave  my  piece 
of  bread  close  by  him,  lest  he  should  waken 


106  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

up  and  cry  for  hunger.  Now  I  must  be  off, 
for  I  have  no  time  to  lose ! " 

The  boy  soon  carried  his  design  into  exe- 
cution. The  information  that  a  child,  a 
foundling,  had  been  left  upon  his  land,  in 
the  hazel-bushes  which  separated  his  mead- 
ows from  his  grain-fields,  was  given  to  the 
squire  as  he  sat  at  breakfast.  The  squire 
frowned,  and  wanted  to  hear  nothing  more 
about  the  infant  who  had  been  placed  upon 
his  farm.  In  the  mean  while,  some  of  the 
people  of  the  town,  and  some  of  the  servants 
of  the  squire,  were  sent  out  to  see  what  the 
truth  of  the  matter  really  was. 

Mayor,  squire,  and  magistrates  were  soon 
assembled  in  the  council  hall,  to  draw  up  a 
record,  and  to  consider  what  it  was  best, 
under  the  circumstances,  to  do.  The  sheriff 
held  the  foundling  in  his  arms,  and  the  little 
fellow  looked  around  him  as  if  quite  uncon- 
cerned about  the  matter,  while  he  was  busily 
employed  in  consuming  the  hard  piece  of 
brown  bread  which  had  been  given  to  him  by 
the  good-hearted  butcher's  boy. 

The  child  was  stripped,  in  accordance  with 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  107 

the  command  of  the  squire,  in  order  that  the 
letter,  which  was  firmly  sewed  to  his  dress, 
might  be  more  conveniently  read,  and  also 
to  ascertain  if  any  distinctive  mark  could  be 
found  upon  his  body.  The  boy  was  clad  in 
a  dark  woollen  frock,  whose  color  had  become 
almost  undiscernible  through  constant  use, 
and  a  fine  linen-cambric  shirt,  without  any 
mark.  A  little  round  locket  of  some  worth- 
less metal  was  fastened  round  his  neck  with 
a  silken  cord,  but  all  attempts  to  open  the  lid 
were  in  vain.  Either  it  was  not  made  to 
open,  or  the  spring  which  closed  it  was  so 
hidden  that  none  but  those  already  in  the 
secret  could  find  it  out.  This  little  locket 
gave  rise  to  the  supposition  that,  although  the 
boy  seemed,  at  the  present  moment,  to  be 
utterly  forsaken,  yet  those  who  had  deserted 
him  still  preserved  a  wish  to  be  able  to  iden- 
tify him  at  some  future  period  of  his  life. 

The  letter  was  very  badly  written,  and  read 
as  follows :  — 

"  My  name  it  is  Walter. 
Though  still  Yery  young, 


108  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

I  have  known  want  and  care, 
As  to  you  I  have  sung ; 
Whoe'er  will  receive  me 
Will  not  be  ashamed, 
If  once  in  his  hearing 
My  lineage  is  named. 
My  parents  are  dead, 
They  sleep  sound  in  the  grave  : 
Alone  they  have  left  me, 
Strange  sufferings  to  brave. 
I  dare  say  nothing  further  : 
Yet  pity  my  grief, 
Help  me  in  my  sorrow, 
And  yield  me  relief! 
O,  shelter  me,  women  ! 
And  harbor  me,  men  ! 
O,  save  me  from  famine  ! 
In  God's  name,  —  Amen !  " 

Mayor,  squire,  and  magistrates  looked  in- 
quiringly at  each  other.  Many  guesses  were 
made,  many  suppositions  proposed  to  solve 
the  mystery,  and  the  most  searching  inquiries 
were  to  be  immediately  instituted,  with  a  view 
of  finding  out  who  had  been  guilty  of  expos- 
ing the  unfortunate  boy  to  the  solitude  and 
darkness  of  the  past  night.  In  the  mean  time, 
it  was  determined  that  the  child  should  be 
taken  care  of,  and,  after  a  protracted  discus- 


THE    YOtNG    ARTIST.  109 

sion,  it  was  finally  resolved  that  he  should 
be  boarded  with  one  of  the  poor  families  of 
the  village,  and  that  his  expenses  should  be 
paid  out  of  the  revenues  of  the  town.  The 
people  were  then  called  together,  in  order  to 
make  them  acquainted  with  the  occurrences 
which  we  have  just  related,  and  the  boy  was 
finally  apprenticed  to  the  one  who  was  willing 
to  take  him  at  the  lowest  rate.  The  town- 
fiddler,  Bopp,  had  offered  to  feed  and  clothe 
him  for  so  small  a  sum,  that  the  poor  found- 
ling, utterly  unconscious  of  how  destiny  was 
disposing  of  him,  was  given  over  to  his 
charge.  As  he  took  the  helpless  infant  in 
his  arms,  to  carry  it  home  to  its  new  brothers 
and  sisters,  it  grasped  his  hand  with  its  tiny 
fingers,  and  smiled  friendlily  in  his  face. 

"  Maggie !  don't  pound  so  with  your  feet, 
for  you  shake  the  table  so  that  my  writing  is 
blotted,  and  my  letters  all  humpbacked !  " 
said  Conrad,  gruffly,  to  his  sister,  who  was 
sitting  beside  him. 

"  What  has  the  pounding  of  my  feet  to  do 
with  ,the  shape  of  your  letters,  I  should  like 
10 


110  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

to  know  ?  "  answered  Maggie.  "  I  can't  help 
doing  it,  at  any  rate ;  I  must  beat  the  time 
when  father  plays,  it  helps  me  on  with  my 
knitting.  If  you  would  only  be  more  careful, 
you  would  write  better.  Look  here,  what  a 
long  piece  I  have  knit  in  my  stocking ! " 

With  a  rapid  movement,  she  held  her  long 
blue  stocking  up  immediately  in  front  of  her 
brother's  face ;  but  as  she  did  so,  she  awkwardly 
gave  a  great  push  to  his  elbow,  and  so  jostled 
his  arm,  that  it  drove  the  pen  full  of  ink  en- 
tirely across  his  copy-book,  and  spoiled  the 
appearance  of  the  whole  page.  Crimson  with 
rage,  the  boy  gave  the  little  girl  a  violent  box 
upon  the  ears.  Maggie  shrieked  loudly,  and 
tried  to  revenge  herself  in  the  same  way. 
Thus  a  fierce  battle  began  at  the  table,  round 
which  the  children  were  engaged  in  their 
studies.  Not  far  from  it  two  fat,  ruddy  little 
boys  were  playing  with  the  black  house-cat. 
Conrad  and  Maggie  had  wrestled  and  strug- 
gled forward  until  they  were  close  upo.n  the 
little  ones ;  Maggie  stumbled  over  the  cat, 
and  fell  upon  her  little  brothers.  The  children 
screamed,  the  cat  yelled,  so  that  the  baby  in 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  Ill 

the  cradle  was  waked  up,  and  soon  added 
his  cries  to  the  general  uproar.  Quite  undis- 
turbed by  all  this  frightful  tumult.  Father 
Bopp  stood  tranquilly  at  the  window,  and 
practised  a  dance  upon  the  clarionet. 

He  was  a  little,  slender  man,  and  blew  with 
his  cheeks  puffed  out  into  his  instrument. 
His  tailor-work,  the  signs  of  his  daily  occupa- 
tion, hung  upon  the  wall,  between  his  fiddles 
and  horns.  He  was  so  accustomed  to  the 
noise  of  the  children,  that  he  continued  his 
practising  without  appearing  in  the  least  dis- 
turbed by  their  deafening  din.  As  tranquil 
as  the  musician  himself,  as  undisturbed  by  all 
that  was  going  on  in  the  dark,  dirty  room,  a 
beautiful  little  boy  of  about  five  years  old  sat 
quietly  at  his  feet.  With  his  large,  dark  eyes 
fastened  upon  the  face  of  the  father,  his  bare 
legs  doubled  up  under  him,  he  supported  him- 
self, half  reclining,  upon  his  left  hand,  while 
with  the  right  he  beat  the  time  lightly,  but 
accurately,  upon  his  naked  knee.  He  was 
wretchedly  clothed ;  his  torn  coat  of  dark- 
blue  linsey  was  a  great  deal  too  short,  and,  as 
it  had  neither  buttons  nor  hooks  to  keep  it 


112  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

together,  it  gaped  widely  in  front,  exposing 
his  breast  and  shoulders  to  view,  whose  soft 
forms  shone  in  their  warm  brown  tints.  His 
dark,  full  curls  fell  uncombed  and  uncared  for 
over  his  rounded  fqjs&ftead  and  blooming  face. 

"  Potz  tausend  !  Odds  bodikins  !  What  a 
noise  you  are  making  there!"  called  the 
mother  from  the  adjoining  kitchen.  In  the 
same  moment  she  made  her  appearance  at 
the  smoky  door.  She  was  a  stout,  strong 
woman,  her  thick  and  coarse  blond  hair  fell 
in  uncombed  masses  from  what  had  once 
been  a  black  velvet  cap,  but  which  had  now 
assumed  a  gray  tint  from  age  and  constant 
wear.  A  gray  petticoat,  a  long  red  jacket,  a 
red  and  black  plaid  neck-handkerchief,  and  a 
blue  cotton  apron,  completed  the  costume  of 
the  mother,  whose  clothing,  as  well  as  her 
full,  red  face,  bore  visible  marks  of  the  life  of 
the  kitchen.  Armed  with  a  broom,  she  sprang 
into  the  sitting-room,  and  brandished  it  over 
the  heads  of  the  children,  who  were  still 
tumbling  about  upon  the  floor. 

"  Will  you  be  quiet,  you  noisy  brats  ? " 
she  loudly  cried.  "  Get  up  from  the  floor, 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  113 

instantly !  What  has  happened  ?  O,  do  quit 
that  everlasting  blowing  upon  the  clarionet, 
man !  It  is  impossible  to  hear  one's  own 
voice  with  such  an  incessant  clatter !  Which 
of  you  began  it  ?  "  *%^ 

. "  Conrad  struck  me  !  "  screamed  Maggie. 

"  Maggie  pushed  my  elbow  when  I  was 
writing,  and  I  shall  be  kept  in  for  it  to- 
morrow ! " 

"  They  both  fell  over  me,  and  the  cat 
scratched  me !  " 

"  They  hurt  my  foot !  " 

"  They  knocked  me  in  the  head ! " 

Thus  the  children  cried  and  screamed  con- 
fusedly together,  while  the  baby  in  the  cradle 
shrieked  until  it  lost  its  breath. 

"  Silence  !  "  commanded  the  mother,  ac- 
companying her  order  with  a  heavy  thump  of 
the  broom-handle  upon  the  floor. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there,  Walter  ?  " 
she  angrily  cried.  "  Are  you  sitting  there 
again,  with  your  eyes  and  mouth  wide  open, 
staring  at  your  noisy  father,  instead  of  rocking 
the  cradle,  as  I  ordered  you  to  do  ?  Wait,  you 
little  good-for-nothing,  —  I  '11  give  it  to  you  ! " 
10  • 


114  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

With  a  single  bound,  she  stood  by*  the 
frightened  boy,  tore  him  up  by  the  arms, 
slung  him  round  with  rude  force,  and  then 
shook  him  fiercely.  Then  she  dragged  him 
to  the  corner  in  which  the  cradle  stood,  and, 
pushing  him  down  by  it,  she  said:  "  Sit  here 
upon  the  floor,  and  don't  stir  a  single  inch  ; 
and  don't  let  me  hear  a  single  tone,  a  single 
sound,  from  your  ugly  lips  ! " 

She  held  her  red  fist,  doubled  up,  threaten- 
ingly before  his  eyes.  The  poor  child  pressed 
his  lovely  face  closely  upon  the  dirty  floor, 
to  try  to  stifle  the  loud  sobs  of  pain  which 
broke  from  his  wounded  body  and  his  crushed 
spirit. 

In  the  mean  time  the  children  had  become 
more  tranquil.  Conrad  was  rubbing  out  the 
ugly  stroke  which  marred  the  beauty  of  his 
copy-book ;  Maggie  tried  to  take  up  the 
stitches  which  had  fallen,  when  she  pulled 
one  of  the  needles  out  of  the  long  blue  stock- 
ing ;  and  the  two  little  boys  had  run  into  the 
kitchen  to  hunt  the  black  cat,  which  had 
taken  refuge  under  the  table.  The  tailor- 
musician  had  put  up  his*  instrument  in  its 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  llO 

allotted  place,  put  on  his  blue  cloth  rounda- 
bout, and,  taking  his  hat  from  the  nail,  was 
blowing  the  dust  off  it,  as  he  said  lightly  to 
his  wife,  who  was  trying  to  quiet  the  baby : 
"  Listen  to  me,  wife  !  Walter  had  nothing  at 
all  to  do  with  the  noise  and  screaming  of  the 
children  ;  so  don't  be  cross  to  him  about  it, 
will  you?" 

"  What 's  that  to  you,  I  should  like  to 
know  ?  Mind  your  own  business,  and  don't 
meddle  yourself  in  things  that  don't  concern 
you.  Stick  to  your  needle  arid  your  fiddle : 
what  do  you  know  about  children  ?  That 's 
my  business ;  and,  potz  tausend!  I  should  like 
to  see  the  man  who  would  dare  to  meddle  in 
my  affairs ! " 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  no  wish  to  do  it,"  said 
the  crest-fallen  little  tailor,  "but  you  must 
not  abuse  Walter ;  for  although  he  is  so  very 
young,  he  can  already  play  three  dances  upon 
the  fife ;  in  another  year,  I  can  take  him  about 
with  me  when  I  play  at  the  balls ;  and  thus 
he  will  soon  be  able  to  gain  money  for  us  all." 

"  Indeed ! "  cried  the  woman,  scornfully. 
"  He  is  a  little  miracle  in  your  eyes !  But 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

mark  well  what  I  say ;  if  I  don't  keep  your 
infant  miracle  in  order,  he  '11  soon  become  a 
monstrous  good-for-nothing.  Odds  bodikins, 
but  I  intend  to  do  it,  too  !  Now  go  about 
your  business  at  once,  and  don't  bother  me 
with  any  more  of  your  ridiculous  nonsense  !  " 

The  tailor  looked  compassionately  at  the 
poor,  sobbing  boy,  shrugged  his  narrow  shoul- 
ders, and,  after  an  abrupt  "good  by,"  left  the 
house. 

Mother  Bopp  put  the  child  in  the  cradle, 
ordered  Walter  to  rock  it  and  watch  the  baby, 
and  told  Maggie  to  set  the  table  for  supper. 
This  command  soon  brought  the  still  quarrel- 
ling brother  and  sister  again  together.  They 
all  bestirred  themselves  busily,  shoved  the 
heavy  oaken  table  from  the  wall  out  into  the 
middle  of  the  room,  and  put  stools  and  benches 
round  it.  Maggie  set  a  tin  salt-cellar  upon  it, 
and  placed  a  large  spoon  near  the  salt.  The 
four  children  took  their  seats  at  the  table. 
The  mother  soon  brought  in  a  great  earthen 
bowl,  full  of  smoking  potatoes,  and  put  them 
on  the  table.  She  then  seated  herself  in  the 
arm-chair,  and  they  all  began  to  eat  their  sup- 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  117 

per.  But  Walter  still  remained  alone  on  the 
floor  in  the  corner,  and  rocked  the  cradle, 
while  he  eagerly  breathed  the  vapor  from  the 
smoking  potatoes,  which  soon  spread  itself 
through  the  low  room. 

A  considerable  time  had  elapsed,  in  which 
Maggie  had  often  touched  her  mother's  arm, 
and  looked  pleadingly  and  significantly  to- 
wards Walter,  but  it  had  not  produced  the 
least  effect  upon  Mother  Bopp.  Maggie  had 
eaten  very  little  herself,  and  two  or  three  po- 
tatoes, which  she  had  carefully  selected,  still 
lay  before  her,  which  she  boldly  protected 
against  all  Conrad's  attempts  to  appropriate 
to  himself.  At  last,  Mother  Bopp  cried,  "  Wal- 
ter !  "  and  the  boy  hastened  to  her  side. 

"  Will  you  always  mind  what  I  say  to  you? 
will  you  always  do  what  I  tell  you  to  do,  and 
never  again  lie,  like  a  little  idler,  upon  the 
floor  ?  " 

"  Yes ! "  sobbed  the  boy,  "  I  will  never  again 
forget  to  rock  Johnny,  even  if  my  father  should 
play  upon  the  clarionet !  " 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  will  promise  always  to 
be  good,  I  will  punish  you  no  more  to-day. 


118  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

Sit  down,  then,  and  eat  your  supper,  and 
mind  that  you  begin  no  quarrelling  with  the 
children ! " 

Walter  slipped  quietly  to  the  corner  of  the 
table,  where  Maggie  "made  room  for  him,  and 
se<5retly  shoved  before  him  the  potatoes  which 
she  had  so  carefully  chosen. 

"  See  now,"  growled  Conrad,  "  you  can  pick 
and  peel  potatoes  enough  for  Walter,  but  I 
have  to  peel  them  for  myself.  Can't  he  peel 
them  for  himself  as  well  as  I  can  ?  " 

"  No,  for  you  are  a  great  deal  larger  than 
he  is,  and  can  peel  two  before  he  is  ready 
with  one ;  and  you  have  already  eaten  a  great 
many,  and  he  is  just  beginning,"  answered 
his  sister. 

"  But  I  will  have  these,  too  !  "  he  cried,  de- 
fiantly, and  attempted  to  seize  them. 

Walter  tried  anxiously  to  cover  his  treasure 
with  his  little  hands;  Maggie  helped  him,  but 
Conrad  was  strong,  and  soon  again  began  to 
beat  them.  Mother  Bopp,  who  had  gone  for 
a  moment  to  the  cradle,  turned  angrily  round, 
and  in  a  great  passion  cried,  "  What !  fight- 
ing already  ?  Who  began  it  ?  " 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  119 

"  Conrad  took  my  potatoes  from  me,"  said 
Walter,  in  a  meek  voice. 

"  The  stupid  little  devil  lies ;  they  did  n't 
belong  to  him  at  all,  for  Maggie  peeled  them!" 
screamed  Conrad. 

«  I  don't  tell  a  lie,"  said  Walter ;  "  he  did 
take  them  away  from  me." 

"  Walter  is  right ;  Conrad  is  both  a  thief 
and  a  liar  !  "  asserted  Maggie: 

"  Can  it  be  possible  that  Walter  is  fighting 
again  ?  That  is  too  much  to  bear !  "  cried 
Mother  Bopp  in  a  rage.  "  Did  n't  I  just  tell 
you,  you  must  be  good,  and  that  you  must 
never  fight  again  ?  You  are  a  bad,  wicked, 
troublesome  fellow !  Off,  —  off  to  bed  with 
you !  You  shall  not  taste  a  single  bite  of 
anything  to-night ! " 

"  But,  indeed,  mother,"  interrupted  Maggie, 
"it  is  not  at  all  Walter's  fault;  Conrad  — " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  miss !  "  cried  Mother 
Bopp.  "  Much  you  know  about  right  and 
wrong,  to  blame  your  own  brother !  You  had 
better  take  care  of  yourself,  or  —  " 

The  raised  hand  and  threatening  face  ex- 
plained sufficiently  this  mysterious  "  or." 


120  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

Maggie  sunk  into  a  gloomy  silence,  and 
secretly  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  Con- 
rad made  a  triumphant  face  at  her,  and  ate  at 
his  ease  the  peeled  potatoes  which  he  had  so 
unjustly  stolen  from  the  foundling ;  and  poor 
Walter,  hungry  and  crying,  stole  to  hide  him- 
self in  his  wretched  bed. 

It  was  very  late ;  everybody  had  gone  to 
rest,  but  Walter  could  not  sleep.  But  when 
the  rest  of  the  family  retired,  he  too,  out  of 
fear,  pretended  to  go  to  sleep,  but  he  could 
not  do  so  ;  and  as  he  restlessly  tossed  about 
upon  his  bed,  the  straw  crackled  under  him. 
He  thought  he  heard  some  one  lightly  calling 
his  name.  He  sat  up,  and  saw  Maggie  stand- 
ing beside  him,  who  asked  him  in  a  whisper, 
"  Why  don't  you  go  to  sleep  ?  " 

"  Dear  Maggie,  I  can't,  I  am  so  hungry !  " 

"  I  thought  so,  poor  little  fellow ! "  she  an- 
swered compassionately.  "  Here,  I  picked  up 
two  potatoes  while  mother  was  in  the  kitchen, 
and  slipped  away  a  little  bit  of  bread,  too. 
Eat  them,  Walter !  But  take  care  that  you 
don't  let  any  crumbs  fall  in  the  bed ;  for  if 
mother  should  find  out  to-morrow  that  you 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  121 

have  had  anything  to  eat  to-night,  it  would 
be  bad  enough  for  us  both  !  " 

"  Dear,  good,  kind  Maggie,  thank  you, 
thank  you  !  "  said  the  child,  while  he  eagerly 
devoured  the  cold  potatoes. 

"  Good  night !  "  "  Good  night ! "  said  the 
children  to  each  other  as  they  parted.  Mag- 
gie slipped  quietly  back  to  her  bed  again ;  and 
after  Walter  had  satisfied  his  hunger,  he  slum- 
bered sweetly  and  quietly  on  until  the  morn- 
ing dawned. 

The  scene  which  we  have  just  sketched 
may  serve  to  give  some  idea  of  the  loving 
hearts  to  which  the  poor  foundling  had  been 
intrusted.  Mother  Bopp  had  persuaded  her 
husband,  whom  she  completely  ruled,  to  take 
the  child,  because  she  thought  that,  where  so 
many  children  had  to  be  fed,  one  mouth  more 
would  scarcely  add  anything  to  the  necessary 
expenses,  and  that  the  little  sum  which  the 
mayor,  squire,  and  magistrates  were  willing 
to  pay  from  the  town  revenues  for  his  keep- 
ing would  be  very  useful  to  her  in  various 
ways.  In  what  manner  she  fulfilled  the  du- 
ll 


122  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

ties  which  she  had  assumed  for  the  deserted 
boy,  we  have  already  seen.  At  least,  the  "one 
mouth  more  added  nothing  to  the  additional 
expenses." 

In  spite  of  her  cruelty,  the  boy  was  strong 
and  healthy,  and  both  in  beauty  and  behav- 
iour far  surpassed  the  little  Bopps.  This  was, 
however,  only  a  new  ground  for  her  deep 
and  intense  hatred.  Walter  was  maltreated, 
starved,  and  beaten.  But,  even  if  crying  from 
pain  and  hunger,  when  Father  Bopp  com- 
menced his  daily  practising  upon  his  instru- 
ments, he  would  cease  upon  the  very  first 
tones,  and,  creeping  close  to  the  feet  of  the 
tailor,  he  would  listen  to  him  with  the  great- 
est apparent  satisfaction.  For  this  reason, 
the  tailor-musician  began  to  love  the  deserted 
boy  even  more  than  any  of  his  own  children, 
who  never  paid  the  least  attention  to  his 
playing.  This  of  course  increased  the  hatred 
of  Mother  Bopp  to  the  unfortunate  orphan, 
and  awakened  the  envy  of  her  darling,  the 
red-headed,  noisy,  wicked  Conrad.  Maggie 
had  felt  a  tender  compassion  and  real  affec- 
tion for  the  luckless  child,  from  the  first  mo- 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  123 

ment  in  which  he  had  entered  her  home,  a 
desolate  but  beautiful  creature  of  about  three 
years  old.  She  cherished  and  protected  him 
to  the  extent  of  her  power. 

The  tailor  began  to  give  Walter  lessons  in 
music  when  he  was  only  about  five  years  old. 
He  taught  him  upon  a  fife  which  was  of  the 
right  size  for  his  little  hand,  and  he  could  soon 
play  several  dances  tolerably  well.  It  was  his 
intention  to  render  his  progress  as  rapid  as 
possible,  and  to  teach  him  all  the  dances  in 
common  use,  so  that  he  might  take  him  with 
him  to  play  at  fairs,  parties,  and  wedding 
festivities.  Mother  Bopp  had  nothing  to  urge 
against  it,  because  she  saw  that  he  would 
soon  be  able  to  earn  some  money  in  this  way; 
but  she  always  contradicted  and  battled  with 
her  husband,  when  he  spoke  of  the  astonish- 
ing talent  which  the  child  possessed,  or  ex- 
pressed his  astonishment  at  the  rapidity  of  his 
progress.  She  said  Conrad  would  have  learned 
a  great  deal  faster,  if  his  father  had  only  taken 
the  trouble  to  have  taught  him.  But,  indeed, 
she  thought  it  was  better  it  should  be  so,  for 
Conrad  was  far  too  smart  to  content  himself 


124  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

with  being  nothing  more  than  a  town-fiddler. 
No,  indeed !  She  had  higher  views  for  him : 
he  should  be  a  student.  When  such  remarks 
were  made  by  Mother  Bopp,  the  tailor  would 
heave  a  light  sigh,  and  say,  "  Well,  well,  we  '11 
see  about  that." 

He  never  ventured  to  contradict  his  wife 
openly ;  but  when  it  grew  too  stormy  and  un- 
comfortable for  him  at  home,  he  used  to  go 
to  the  Golden  Star,  and  drink  his  sorrows  into 
forgetfulness.  But  when  he  came  staggering 
back  to  the  house,  he  had  often  the  courage 
to  express  and  maintain  different  opinions 
from  those  held  by  his  wife.  But  she  always 
got  the  upper  hand  in  such  contests,  for  she 
forcibly  supported  her  right  to  tyrannize  in  her 
own  province,  and  knew  how  to  hold  him  un- 
der the  most  despotic  petticoat  government. 

These  vulgar  scenes  and  low  squabbles 
were  the  first  impressions  which  the  young 
spirit  of  Walter  received.  He  loved  the  fa- 
ther and  Maggie,  and  hated  the  mother  and 
Conrad.  When  he  was  about  seven  years 
old,  he  could  play  the  fiddle  and  fife  almost 
as  well  as  the  tailor,  and  accompanied  him 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  125 

verywhere  where   his   business   called  him. 

ndeed,  the  people  soon  refused  to  employ  the 
old  musician  without  the  young  one,  which 
pleased  the  little  tailor  exceedingly,  because 
it  furnished  him  with  an  excuse  to  have  Wal- 
ter always  with  him.  The  squire  himself  had 
admired  the  skill  of  the  foundling,  and  sent 
him  a  present  of  a  violin  as  a  Christmas  gift, 
which  made  Walter  so  happy,  that  it  enabled 
him  to  bear,  almost  unnoticed,  the  constant 
and  provoking  malice  of  Conrad. 

So  Walter,  with  the  new  fiddle  which  the 
squire  had  given  him  at  Christmas,  went 
everywhere  with  the  tailor,  and  his  happiest 
hours  were  spent  far  from  the  house  of  his 
tormentors.  Without  ever  growing  tired,  he 
played  away  in  the  midst  of  dust  and  tobacco- 
smoke,  laughed  at  the  coarse  jokes  which  oc- 
curred, drank  off,  without  thinking,  the  brandy 
and  strong  beer  which  was  handed  to  him ; 
and  when,  through  the  stimulating  effects  of 
such  draughts,  his  shyness  and  bashfulness 
vanished,  and  his  vivid  spirit  manifested  itself 
in.  droll  jests  and  witty  speeches,  then  old  and 
young  would  crowd  around  him,  admire  his 
11* 


126  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

musical  talent,  and  laugh  at  his  smart  say- 
ings ;  and  the  more  impudent  and  spoiled  he 
became,  so  much  the  more  was  he  the  petted 
darling  of  the  farmers  and  mechanics. 

Thus  was  Walter  upon  the  high  road  to 
destruction  ;  thus  might  he  have  become  a 
complete  good-for-nothing.  But  the  stain  of 
this  spoiling  by  the  inconsiderate  populace 
was  only  upon  the  outer  man  ;  and  his  inner 
nature  remained  pure  and  unhurt,  so  that  the 
evil  vanished  as  soon  as  its  cause  was  re- 
moved. 

Notwithstanding  the  constant  interruptions 
which  occurred  in  his  attendance  at  school, 
from  which,  at  times  of  festivals  and  wed- 
dings, he  was  often  absent  for  whole  weeks 
together,  as  he  was  industrious  and  desirous 
of  acquiring  knowledge,  he  made  rapid  prog- 
ress in  his  studies. 

The  praises  and  rewards  given  him  by  the 
different  teachers  in  the  school  excited  Con- 
rad's envy  to  the  highest  degree,  and  greatly 
enraged  Mother  Bopp. 

The  yearly  examinations  had  just  ended. 
Among  those  who  had  taken  the  highest 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  127 

prizes  Walter  stood  conspicuous.  Conrad 
had  obtained  none.  Walter  stood,  with  his 
cheeks  glowing  with  excitement,  turning  over 
the  leaves  in  the  books  which  he  had  just  re- 
ceived, when  the  venerable  pastor  approached 
him,  stroking,  as  if  he  were  well  pleased  with 
him,  his  dark,  clustering  curls,  and  said  to 
him  •  "  I  hope,  my  child,  that  you  will  win, 
next  year,  the  prizes  in  the  higher  classes. 
But  in  order  to  render  this  possible,  you  must 
not  lose  so  much  time  at  school  as  you  have 
done  this  year.  Music,  in  the  right  time  and 
place,  is  certainly  a  very  good  thing,  my  son ; 
but  you  are  now  at  the  right  age  to  acquire 
more  extended  and  general  knowledge,  and 
the  loss  of  proper  schooling  in  our  early  years 
can  never  be  replaced  by  any  future  applica- 
tion, however  severe  it  may  be.  It  is  also 
high  time  that  you  should  begin  to  study  the 
Word  of  God;  and  if  the  director  of  the 
school  continues  to  be  as  well  satisfied  with 
you  as  he  is  at  present,  I  will  take  you  under 
my  own  care,  and  myself  instruct  you  in  all 
necessary  knowledge." 

Walter's   eyes   sparkled    with   delight;   an 


128  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

exclamation  of  grateful  joy  parted  his  rosy 
lips;  he  stammeringly  promised  to  do  all  that 
would  be  required  of  him,  and  with  both  his 
little  hands  he  trustingly  pressed  the  hand  of 
the  pastor,  who  bade  him  a  cordial  good-by. 
He  then  turned  to  the  tailor,  and  advised  him 
not  to  keep  the  child  from  his  school  to  go 
about  to  fairs  and  weddings  with  him,  and 
thus  prevent  his  otherwise  certain  progress  in 
his  studies.  The  tailor  promised  that  he 
would  do  so  no  more,  and  then  spoke  of  the 
genius  of  the  boy  for  music,  and  of  his  own 
strong  attachment  to  him. 

Then  they  all  left  the  school-room,  and 
when  they  stood  in  the  street  before  the  door 
of  the  school,  the  elated  tailor  could  contain 
himself  no  longer,  but  seized  the  boy  in  his 
arms,  pressed  him  to  his  breast,  and  kissed 
him  frequently,  as  he  said,  "  You  dear  little 
fellow!  I  always  knew  you  were  a  smart 
boy,  and  now  I  am  sure  you  will  do  me  credit 
some  day  or  other." 

In  a  very  bad  humor,  Mother  Bopp  ran  her 
elbows  into  his  side,  and  wakened  him,  not 
very  pleasantly,  from  his  dreams  of  joy  and 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  129 

honor.  He  saw  a  dark  storm  lowering  upon 
the  threatening  brow  of  his  wife,  and  knew 
that,  as  soon  as  they  were  sheltered  by  the 
privacy  of  their  own  roof,  a  perfect  avalanche 
of  abusive  words  would  flow  from  the  bitter, 
firmly-closed,  thin  lips.  Frightened  at  once 
into  silence,  he  quietly  slipped  behind  his 
angry  spouse,  and  placed  as  many  of  the 
school-children  as  he  could  between  himself 
and  the  ruffled  dame.  But  as  their  way  led 
through  a  back  street,  in  which  the  glittering 
sign  of  the  Golden  Star  enticingly  hung,  he 
slipped,  unobserved,  into  the  beloved  precincts, 
in  order  to  gain  courage  to  face  the  tornado 
which  he  felt  awaited  him  at  home. 

Poor  little  Walter  was  soon  driven  from 
the  heaven  which  the  praise  of  his  teachers 
and  the  smiles  of  the  venerable  pastor  had 
prepared  for  his  heart.  Conrad  told  his 
mother  that  Walter  had  made  use  of  the 
meanest  and  most  disgusting  arts  of  hypoc- 
risy and  flattery  to  win  the  love  of  the  teacher, 
and  that  it  was  entirely  through  unjust  par- 
tiality that  he  had  obtained  the  prizes,  which 
»  all  the  boys  in  the  school  knew  he  did  not 
deserve. 


130  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

"  Mean  nypocrite ! "  cried  the  angry  woman, 
"  I'll  teach  you  to  play  your  low  tricks  upon 
us,  you  detestable  viper !  Do  you  really  think 
I'll  suffer  you  thus  to  impose  upon  my  son, 
and  not  punish  you  for  it  ?  I  don't  care 
whether  the  schoolmaster  or  the  parson  does 
it,  but  it's  infamous  and  scandalous  that  a 
miserable  foundling,  whom  nobody  knows 
anything  about,  nor  in  what  jail  or  peniten- 
tiary his  parents  may  now  be  stuck,  should 
be  preferred  to  the  decent  children  of  honest 
people ! " 

Walter's  cheeks  glowed  like  fire ;  he  pressed 
his  hands  spasmodically  together,  while  the 
lightning  fairly  flashed  from  his  lustrous  eye 
as  he  gazed  angrily  at  the  irritating  woman. 
She  well  knew  that  there  was  nothing  she 
could  have  said  or  done  which  would  have 
wounded  him  as  deeply  as  this  stigma  cast 
upon  his  unknown  parents. 

"  Only  look,  mother ! "  said  the  malicious 
Conrad.  "  Look  !  Walter  stares  at  you  as  if 
he  were  going  to  eat  you  up !  He  scorns  and 
defies  you,  mother !  " 

"  Does  he  ?     O,  I  know  how  to  break  him 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  131 

of  that !  I  '11  beat  the  life  out  of  him,  or 
I  '11  break  his  defiant  temper ! "  said  she,  ex- 
asperated to  perfect  fury,  while  she  slapped 
him  again  and  again,  with  all  her  strength, 
in  his  face.  "  March  into  the  room,  sir ! 
march !  You  sha'n't  leave  the  house  to-day ! 
You  sha'n't  go  to  the  school  festival  at  all, 
sir!  You  are  no  fit  companion  for  honest 
people's  sons,  you  beggar's  brat!  The  pas- 
tor shall  know  before  the  day  is  over  what 
a  mean,  hypocritical,  wicked,  ungrateful  boy 
you  are ! " 

No  expression  altered  in  the  lines  of  Wal- 
ter's young  face ;  he  was  so  accustomed  to 
abuse  that  he  had  long  borne  it  with  an  air 
of  calm  and  cold  defiance.  Without  making 
any  reply,  he  went  quietly  into  the  room,  as 
he  had  been  ordered,  and  concealed  the  rage 
boiling  in  his  heart  under  an  appearance  of 
perfect  indifference.  He  soon  after  took  up 
his  violin,  and,  as  he  played,  peace  and  tran- 
quillity returned  to  the  tortured  little  breast. 

Twilight  began  to  darken  into  night,  and 
the  children  had  not  yet  returned  from  the 
school  festival.  Walter  had  played  until  he 


132  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

was  really  tired,  had  put  his  violin  down 
upon  the  table,  and,  with  his  head  resting 
upon  his  arm,  had  sunk  to  sleep.  When  the 
tailor,  half  intoxicated,  returned  home,  the 
customary  scene  of  quarrelling  was  renewed. 
Walter  was  awakened  by  the  noise  ;  he  lis- 
tened, and  heard  the  falling  of  the  blows 
which  the  strong  and  vigorous  woman  was 
heaping  upon  the  fragile  little  man  whom  he 
loved,  and  who  had  never  said  an  unkind 
word  to  him  since  his  entrance  into  the  family. 
His  heart  bled  for  the  poor  tailor,  and  all  the 
bitterness  in  his  nature  was  aroused  against 
the  wicked  woman  who  treated  them  both  so 
cruelly. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  wicked  woman ! "  he 
murmured.  "  Conrad  is  not  in  the  house  to 
help  you,  and  the  father  shall  have  the  best 
of  it  to-day ! " 

With  one  rapid  bound  he  was  in  the  room, 
and  fastened  his  arms  round  the  feet  of 
Mother  Bopp,  so  that  she  might  be  thrown 
down,  and  thus  forced  to  release  her  husband. 
She  was  surprised  for  a  moment  when  she 
felt  herself  thus  suddenly  caught,  but  seeing 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  133 

immediately  that  it  was  only  Walter,  she  tried 
to  push  him  away  with  her  feet.  With  her 
left  hand  she  grasped  the  little  tailor  by  the 
throat,  while  with  her  right  she  brandished 
the  yardstick.  Again  and  again  she  struck 
him  violently  over  the  head  and  shoulders  with 
it.  Alas !  ^Walter  could  endure  it  no  longer  ! 
He  seized  the  round  and  powerful  arm,  and 
fastened  his  sharp,  snow-white  teeth  firmly 
in  the  solid  flesh.  She  screamed  loudly  with 
the  sudden  pain,  the  yardstick  sunk  from  her 
right  hand,  the  left  loosened  its  grasp  from 
the  throat  of  the  tailor,  and  wreathed  itself  in 
the  dark  locks  of  the  unfortunate  boy.  The 
tailor  fell  upon  the  floor,  muttering  words 
which  were  quite  unintelligible.  Walter  had 
pulled  his  teeth  out  of  the  athletic  arm,  and 
the  blood  dropped  down  upon  his  head.  He 
looked  at  it  un affrighted,  nay,  rather  with  a 
triumphant  expression,  and  said, — 

"  You  shall  never  beat  my  father  again ! 
I  will  never  suffer  you  to  do  it  again,  never! 
I  am  growing  taller  and  stronger  every  day, 
and  I  will  henceforth  always  help  him.  You 
cannot  treat  me  worse  than  you  have  hitherto 
12 


134  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

done,  unless  you  kill  me  outright.  Do  that  if 
you  dare ;  for  if  you  do,  you  know  you  will 
be  hanged!" 

Actually  struck  dumb  with  astonishment 
and  rage,  the  woman  looked  down  upon  the 
defiant  little  hero.  Recovering  herself,  how- 
ever, she  seized  him  by  the  arm,  dragged  him 
to  the  front  door,  and,  as  she  pushed  him 
down  the  steps,  cried  after  him,  — 

"  Off  with  you !  off  with  you,  you  good- 
for-nothing  little  rascal !  Go  and  beg  your 
bread  where  you  can!  If  you  ever  dare  to 
enter  my  house  again,  I  '11  strike  you  dead 
with  a  club,  like  a  rnad  dog !  I  '11  teach  you 
to  bite  like  a  bloodhound  !  " 

The  heavy  bolt  fell  jarringly  in  its  place, 
and  Walter  stood  in  the  street  alone! 

Soon  after,  the  school-children,  full  of  joy- 
ous prattle,  began  to  return  from  their  festival, 
and  poor  Walter  hid  himself,  that  they  might 
not  see  him  as  they  passed  by.  The  moon 
looked  calmly  down  upon  the  house  from 
which  he  had  just  been  driven.  He  had 
lever  known  any  home  but  this,  and  although 

'•  had  spent  many  wretched  days  there,  yet 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  135 

the  separation  from  it  pained  his  heart.  He 
said  to  himself,  as  the  big  tears  rolled  rapidly 
down  his  cheeks, — 

"  How  many  stories  she  will  tell  about  me ! 
The  good  pastor,  who  spoke  so  very  kindly  to 
me  to-day,  and  my  teacher,  —  oh !  they  will 
all  learn  to  think  so  badly  of  me,  for  she  will 
tell  them  all  what  a  wicked,  dreadful  boy  I 
am  !  But  she  might  say  of  me  all  she  could, 
if  she  would  only  stick  to  the  truth.  But  she 
won't  do  that !  Suppose  I  were  to  go  myself 
to  the  pastor,  and  tell  him  how  it  all  hap- 
pened ?  But  that  would  be  of  no  use  to  me, 
for  perhaps  he  would  not  believe  me,  and  it 
would  not  bring  me  back  to  my  home.  Noth- 
ing would  ever  induce  me  to  enter  the  house 
again !  No,  she  shall  never  again  have  a 
chance  to  beat  me  like  a  mad  dog!  I  need 
•not  beg  either,  as  she  says  I  must.  I  can 
support  myself  very  well,  if  she  would  only 
let  me  have  my  fiddle !  Ah  !  if  Maggie  had 
been  there,  she  could  have  told  the  pastor  that 
I  only  tried  to  help  her  father,  because  he 
is  so  much  weaker  than  this  strong,  cruel 
woman ! " 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

As  these  thoughts  were  passing  through 
the  mind  of  Walter,  the  door  of  the  house 
was  softly  opened,  and  Maggie  slipped  noise- 
lessly up  the  street,  looking  searchingly  in 
every  direction,  and  at  last  cried,  with  a  sup- 
pressed voice,  — 

"  Walter ! " 

"  I  am  here  !  "  answered  the  boy,  and  Mag- 
gie hastened  to  meet  him. 

"  O  Walter ! "  she  said,  "  why  have  you 
treated  my  mother  so  badly  ?  Her  arm  is 
very  much  swollen,  and  she  suffers  a  great 
deal  of  pain  !  " 

"  I  am  not  sorry,"  answered  the  boy ;  "  I 
would  like  to  leave  her  a  long  remembrance 
of  Walter." 

"  Shame !  shame  !  Walter,  that  is  wicked! " 
scolded  Maggie.  "  I  never  could  have  be- 
lieved that  you  would  have  spoken  in  such 
a  cruel  manner.  Do  you  not  know  that  he 
who  lifts  up  his  hand  against  his  father  or 
mother  stands  near  his  own  grave  ?  " 

"  But  she  is  not  my  mother  at  all ;  and  you 
know  she  has  always  reviled  me  as  a  poor, 
miserable  foundling.  But,  Maggie,  you  must 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  137 

not  think  that  I  bit  her  because  she  whipped 
me.  She  may  say  what  she  will  about  it,  but 
I  will  tell  you  the  truth.  I  ran  in  to  help 
your  father.  Could  I  stand  quietly  by,  and 
see  him  beaten  with  the  hard,  heavy  yard- 
stick ?  No !  I  could  not  bear  it ;  for  he  is 
not  strong  enough  to  contend  with  her,  —  and 
he  is  so  good  and  kind,  and  never  likes  to 
hurt  anybody.  You  know  I  have  borne 
calmly  enough  all  her  harsh  treatment  to 
myself,  no  matter  how  unjust  and  unkind  she 
might  be  to  me,  —  as  she  was  this  morning 
when  I  brought  my  school-prizes  home,  and 
she  beat  me ;  yet  you  know,  Maggie,  I  never 
retaliated  my  wrongs  upon  her.  But  indeed 
I  could  not  see  the  weak  father  so  abused ! 
Ah,  dear  Maggie!  do  not  let  them  slander  me! 
Tell  the  good  pastor,  and  my  kind  school- 
master, that  I  did  not  do  it  to  defend  myself 
from  her  blows,  but  only  to  help  my  poor, 
weak  father !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  will !     I  will  indeed!  "  sobbed 

Maggie  ;  "  but  what  can  you  do  for  yourself, 

poor  boy  ?     Hide  yourself  anywhere  yon  can 

to-night,  and  then  come  to-morrow  and  beg 

12* 


138  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

mother's  pardon,  so  that  you  can  come  home 
and  live  with  us  again ! " 

"  Never !  never  !  "  said  the  boy,  hastily.  "  I 
will  never  enter  the  door  again  !  Your  mother 
pushed  me  out,  called  me  a  dog,  and  threat- 
ened to  knock  me  down  dead  with  a  club  if  I 
ever  crossed  her  threshold  again!  She  said 
I  would  have  to  beg  my  bread.  Beg,  indeed ! 
I  am  far  enough  from  that,  I  can  tell  you ! 
If  I  only  had  my  fiddle,  I  could  take  care  of 
myself  well  enough,  for  I  can  play  all  the 
dances  as  well  as  anybody!  Beg,  indeed!" 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Maggie.  "  You  are 
a  musician,  and  there  is  no  reason  you  should 
be  beaten  and  abused  by  anybody." 

"  Yes,  —  but  without  an  instrument !  "  said 
Walter,  sadly.  "  My  fiddle,  and  the  beautiful 
book  that  I  got  to-day  in  school,  as  a  reward, 
are  surely  my  own  property ;  they  lie  both 
together  in  the  chamber." 

"  Don't  fret  about  them,  Walter,  for  I  will 
bring  them  both  to  you,"  said  Maggie,  sooth- 
ingly. "  Stay  here  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall ; 
as  soon  as  mother  goes  to  sleep,  I  will  find 
them,  and  bring  them  to  you.  Here  is  a 


S  VTCk+nJOtr  tJrt.l.itis Xfrtvn 


THE     YOUNG     ARTIST 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  139 

piece  of  bread ;  it  is  all  I  could  find  in  the 
kitchen,  and  I  have  brought  you  a  cake  home 
from  the  school  festival.  Good-by !  Don't  grow 
weary  waiting  for  my  return  ;  but  if  I  don't  go 
back  now  to  the  house,  mother  will  miss  me, 
and  I  may  not  be  able  to  get  out  again." 

Maggie  hastened  away,  and  the  boy  seated 
himself  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall,  ate  his 
bread  and  school-cake,  and  soon  slept  tran- 
quilly upon  the  cold  stones. 

After  a  considerable  time  had  elapsed,  Mag- 
'gie  wakened  him  up;  she  had  the  treasured 
fiddle,  and  a  little  bundle  in  her  hand. 

"  Here,  poor  boy,  is  your  fiddle! "  she  sobbed ; 
"  I  have  tied  your  shirts  and  your  book  up  in 
this  bundle.  The  father  sends  you  a  thousand 
good-byes;  he  has  somewhat  recovered  him- 
self, and  is  very  much  distressed  at  your  going 
away.  But  he  thinks  that  when  you  get 
away  from  here,  and  mingle  in  the  world, 
that  you  may  become  a  great  artist.  He 
sends  you  the  few  pennies  which  he  had  by 
him,  and  begs  that,  when  you  go  into  the 
wide,  wide  world,  you  will  not  forget  him, 
for  that  he  will  always  love  you.  He  whis- 


140  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

pered  this  secretly  to  me,  when  mother  was 
in  the  kitchen,  and  our  wicked  Conrad  in  his 
chamber.  Good-by !  good-by,  my  dear,  dear 
Walter!  and  don't  forget  Maggie  in  the  wide, 
wide  world !  " 

"  Farewell,  dearest  Maggie  !  Stand  by  your 
father  whenever  they  treat  him  badly.  When 
I  have  grown  to  be  a  great  artist,  as  the 
father  says  I  will,  —  and  you  may  be  sure  he 
must  know  something  about  it,  —  I  will  have 
plenty  of  money ;  and  then  you,  Maggie,  and 
the  good  father  shall  live  with  me,  and  I  will 
try  to  reward  you  for  all  the  kindness  you 
have  both  shown  me.  But  I  cannot  let  your 
mother  and  Conrad  live  with  me,  for  they  are 
so  bad  that  they  would  make  us  all  unhappy ; 
but  I  will  give  them  plenty  of  money,  so  that 
they  can  have  pancakes  every  day  in  the 
week  for  dinner,  and  a  nice  piece  of  roast 
beef  for  Sundays." 

"Will  you  really  do  all  that,  Walter?" 
said  the  child,  as  she  clapped  her  hands  in 
astonishment  and  delight. 

The  boy  proudly  and  confidently  nodded 
an  assuring  "  Yes,"  and  Maggie  continued,  — 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  141 

"  What  a  good-hearted  boy  you  are !  Only 
make  haste  to  be  a  great  artist,  that  we  may 
soon  meet  again !  O  how  very  happy  father, 
you,  and  I  might  be  together!  Until  then, 
Walter,  farewell!" 

"Farewell,  Maggie!"  said  Walter. 

Then  the  two  children  embraced  each 
other.  They  parted,  consoled  in  some  degree 
by  the  idea  of  soon  meeting  again.  Maggie 
slipped  back  into  the  house,  and  Walter, 
carrying  his  bundle  on  a  stick  slung  over  his 
shoulder,  and  his  violin  under  his  arm,  passed, 
full  of  hope,  through  the  closing  gate  of  an 
unhappy  past,  into  the  breaking  dawn  of  an 
uncertain  future ! 


CHAPTER    III. 


WALTER    FINDS    AND    LOSES    A    FRIEND. 


"  The  field  lies  wide  before  you,  where  to  reap 
The  noble  harvest  of  a  deathless  name." 


THE  pleasant  town  of  Sallheim,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  exceeding  beauty  of  its  situa- 
tion, was  a  place  of  considerable  resort.  At 
the  very  end  of  the  long  village  the  principal 
hotel,  the  Golden  Crown,  was  placed.  A  fine 
view  of  the  enchanting  valley  below  was  to 
be  seen  from  its  garden,  and  guests  of  all  ages 
and  ranks  took  refreshments  under  the  shade 
of  its.  branching  trees.  The  ninepin-alley  was 
always  full.  A  fine  band  of  music  often 
played  under  the  dense  shadows  cast  by  the 
lindens,  which  attracted  numberless  visitors 
from  both  town  and  country.  Upon  one 
bright  afternoon  in  summer,  such  crowds  of 


THE,  YOUNG    ARTIST. 

people  arrived  that  the  garden  was  scarcely 
able  to  contain  them  all,  for  the  next  day  was 
to  be  the  opening  of  the  great  annual  fair. 
Wandering  musicians,  organ-grindsrs,  harp- 
ists, rope-dancers,  men  with  puppet-shows, 
&c.  arrived,  and  put  up  at  the  Golden  Crown, 
in  hopes  of  earning  a  few  pennies  from  the 
rapidly  gathering  throng.  Quite  a  crowd  of 
people  were  collected  round  a  stout  and  ath- 
letic man,  who  was  giving  various  proofs  of 
exceeding  strength,  such  as  tossing  up  cannon- 
balls  in  the  air,  and  catching  themes  they 
fell ;  balancing  a  table  upon  his  teeth,  upon 
which  his  youngest  daughter  stood ;  while 
groups  of  eager  children  were  standing  round 
a  puppet-show,  or  listening  to  the  music  of 
the  harp. 

Two  large  pear-trees  stood  in  the  outer 
yard,  with  chairs  and  tables  placed  under 
them,  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the 
noise  and  bustle  of  the  garden.  A  single  per- 
son occupied  this  comparatively  quiet  spot. 
He  was  a  little  man,  not  taller  than  most  boys 
are  at  ten  years  of  age ;  his  large  head  was  set 
upon  his  high,  broad  shoulders,  almost  with- 


144  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

out  a  visible  neck ;  his  chestnut-brown  hair, 
which  had  fallen  out  fr.orn  the  crown  of  his 
head,  streamed  long  and  thin  over  a  high 
hump  which  rose  upon  his  back ;  his  nose  was 
large,  and  curved  like  the  beak  of  an  eagle : 
his  mouth  was  immense,  and  fully  furnished 
with  white  and  glittering  teeth  ;  while  his  pale 
blue  eyes,  large  and  round,  protruded  consid- 
erably from  their  sockets.  He  rested  with  his 
arms  leaning  upon  the  table,  and  his  hands, 
which  from  their  size  would  have  done  honor 
to  a  large  man,  were  occupied  in  peeling  an 
apple.  Before  him  stood  a  waiter,  upon  which 
were  placed  pears,  nuts,  bread,  and  wine.  He 
looked  good-humored  and  contented.  His 
coat  was  of  dark,  fine  cloth ;  his  linen  beau- 
tifully made,  and  as  white  as  snow. 

A  little  to  the  left  of  the  pear-trees  was 
seated  a  slight  and  sunburnt  boy,  very  meanly 
clad.  A  stout  stick  and  a  little  bundle  lay 
near  him  on  the  ground,  and  a  fiddle,  wrapped 
up  in  a  bright-colored  handkerchief,  showed 
him  to  be  a  wandering  musician,  who  came 
to  try  his  fortunes,  with  older  men,  at  the  fair. 
With  his  dark,  curly  head  supported  by  his 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  145 

left  hand,  he  was  busily  engaged  in  devouring 
a  great  bowl  of  bread  and  milk.  It  was  Wal- 
ter, the  foundling,  who  had  now  been  wan- 
dering without  a  home  for  nearly  three  months, 
and  who  had  found  some  trouble  in  support- 
ing himself  by  his  playing.  He  travelled  about 
without  any  distinctive  aim ;  sometimes  he 
gained  small  sums  of  money,  for  the  beautiful 
boy  often  awakened  a  lively  interest  in  his 
hearers ;  but  he  was  often  forced  to  listen  to 
harsh  words  and  terms  of  reproach,  which 
wounded  his  very  soul.  He  knew  now  that 
it  was  no  easy  thing  to  make  his  own  way 
through  the  world,  and  to  become  a  great  art- 
ist. But  he  did  not  lose  his  courage ;  he  re- 
joiced that  through  his  almost  hourly  practice 
he  was  constantly  acquiring  more  facility  up- 
on his  instrument,  and  that  he  could  play  sev- 
eral long  pieces,  which  he  had  picked  up  in 
his  wanderings,  from  hearing  them  executed 
by  better  performers  than  himself.  After  "Wal- 
ter had  finished  his  bowl  of  bread  and  milk, 
he  stretched  his  tired  limbs  out  upon  the 
bench,  and  sought  repose.  For  the  first  time 
he  now  observed  his  neighbor,  whose  remark- 
is 


'  * 


146  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

able  appearance  at  once  chained  his  attention. 
The  little  man  was  eating  his  nuts  apparently 
with  great  satisfaction ;  he  cracked  them  with 
his  sharp,  strong  teeth,  and  threw  the  shells 
about," right  and  left,  in  quite  a  comical  man- 
ner. A  whole  troop  of  boys,  some  of  them 
from  the  village,  some  of  them  guests  at  the 
inn,  had  gathered  themselves  around  him. 
They  put  their  heads  together,  whispered, 
coughed,  and  tittered,  pointed  their  fingers  at 
him,  and  mimicked  all  his  movements.  He 
appeared  to  take  no  notice  of  them,  but  went 
on  quietly  eating  his  nuts.  This  only  made 
the  mischievous  boys  more  insolent ;  first  one 
cried,  -then  another,  and  at  last  all  together : 
"  Nut-cracker !  nut-cracker  !  crack  me  a  nut ! 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  Halloo!  nut-cracker!" 

The  boys  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  him, 
and  declared  that,  if  some  one  would  pull  him 
by  the  coat-tail,  and  then  shove  the  very  hard- 
est kind  of  nuts  into  his  mouth,  he  could  sure- 
ly crack  them.  They  then  determined  to  make 
the  attempt ;  some  of  them  pulled  his  coat- 
tail,  while  others  threw  little  stones  at  him. 
Walter  could  no  longer  endure  this  derision 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  147 

of  the  stranger.  Brandishing  his  heavy  trav- 
elling stick  in  his  right  hand,  he  suddenly 
sprang  before  the  table  of  the  humpback,  and 
said,  with  flashing  eyes:  "Shame!  shame, 
boys  !  to  behave  so  rudely !  Do  you  not  see 
that  he  cannot  protect  himself  against  your 
mischief,  because  he  is  weak  ?  Shame ! 
shame !  to  attack  one  who  is  weaker  than 
yourselves ! " 

The  boys  stopped  their  sport  for  a  moment; 
but  they  rapidly  consulted  together,  and  then 
hallooed:  "  What  does  that  beggar-fellow  dare 
to  say  to  us  ?  He  had  better  not  try  to  mas- 
ter us !  He  's  a  pretty  looking  chap,  to  be 
sure,  to  dare  to  scold  us !  Up,  arid  catch 
him!  Pound  him,  and  beat  him,  until  he  can 
move  no  longer  !  " 

Part  of  the  boys  fell  with  loud  shouts  upon 
Walter,  while  others  threw  stones  at  him. 
The  boy  parried  their  blows  with  his  stick, 
and  defended  himself  bravely ;  but  at  last  he 
must  have  yielded  to  numbers,  had  not  assist- 
ance come  from  the  quarter  from  which  he 
least  expected  it.  The  little  man,  for  whose 
sake  he  had  encountered  the  storm,  stood  sud- 


148  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

denly  beside  him,  tore  the  two  boys  who  were 
trying  to  throw  Walter  down  away  with 
great  violence,  shook  them  for  a  moment  in 
the  air,  and  then  threw  them  upon  the  ground. 
Then  with  his  long  arms  and  immense  hands 
he  seized  upon  two  other  boys,  and  while  he 
held  them  in  the  air  he  cried,  "  You  bad  boys, 
if  you  don't  let  the  little  fiddler  alone,  and  go 
away  quietly  from  here  immediately,  I  will 
toss  these  two  boys  like  balls  among  you, 
and  not  one  of  you  shall  return  alive  to  the 
house ! " 

The  boys  were  seized  with  a  sudden  panic, 
and  with  loud  shrieks  ran  away  The  man 
set  his  two  trembling  prisoners  free,  who  rap- 
idly fled  to  join  their  companions.  He  then 
looked  round  after  his  little  protector. 

Walter  was  standing  at  the  well,  washing 
the  blood  from  his  still  bleeding  brow,  for  he 
had  been  struck  with  a  heavy  stone.  The  lit- 
tle man  hastened  to  him,  and  said  in  a  com- 
passionate tone,  "  My  brave  little  defender, 
I  hope  you  are  not  much  hurt  ?  " 

"  O  no  !  "  answered  Walter,  "  I  don't  think 
it  amounts  to  anything.  But  don't  be  of- 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  149 

fended  because  I  came  to  your  aid.  I  thought 
you  were  weak,  and  that  I  could  help  you  ; 
but  you  are  very,  very  strong! " 

"  Yes,  God  be  thanked !  In  giving  me  this 
strangely  disproportioned  form,  he  gave  me 
an  extraordinary  strength  with  it,  in  order  that 
I  might  be  able  to  protect  myself  from  the  ill- 
treatment  my  odd  appearance  might  bring 
upon  me.  But  the  laughing  and  scoffing  of 
bad  boys  makes,  in  general,  but  little  impres- 
sion upon  me,  and  I  scarcely  ever  use  my 
strength,  lest  I  might  hurt  them.  You  could 
not  know  that,  my  boy ;  and  that  you  alone 
among  so  many  should  have  struggled  to  pro- 
tect me  is  a  sure  proof  that  you  have  a  good 
heart.  Come,  child,  let  me  put  this  piece  of 
healing  plaster  on  your  wound;  I  always 
carry  some  about  with  me  in  my  pocketbook. 
There,  now !  it  is  on,  and  it  will  quit  bleeding. 
Now  sit  down  beside  me,  and  tell  me  what 
your  name  is,  and  why  it  is  that  your  parents 
let  you  travel  about  alone,  at  such  an  early 
age." 

Walter  immediately  did  as  he  had  been  re- 
quested. The  deformed  and  exceedingly  ugly 
is  • 


150  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

man  had  won  his  entire  confidence.  He  re- 
lated his  whole  history  to  him,  without  con- 
cealing anything. 

The  little  man  muttered,  now  and  then, 
some  almost  unintelligible  words,  and  moved 
his  thick  head  and  short  neck  strangely  about. 
After  Walter  had  finished  his  recital,  he  laid 
his  large  hand  upon  his  dark  curls,  and  said 
friendlily  to  him  :  "  My  dear  boy,  if  you  con- 
tinue to  travel  about  as  you  have  done,  from 
town  to  town,  with  your  fiddle,  you  will  never 
become  even  a  respectable  man,  much  less  a 
great  artist ;  for  in  this  way  you  will  never  ac- 
quire any  knowledge  of  music,  or  .the  meaning 
of  the  word  of  God." 

"  Heaven  help  me !  "  sighed  the  boy  ;  {{>>hat 
will  become  of  me  ?  what  had  I  better  do  ? 
I  cannot  go  back  to  Mother  Bopp,  for  she 
would  strike  me  dead  like  a  dog.  Poor,  for- 
saken boy  that  I  am!  nobody  cares  about 
me;  I  am  entirely  neglected.  Alas!  alas!  I 
have  no  parents  to  love  me,  as  other  children 
have  ! "  Thick  tears  coursed  their  rapid  way 
over  the  rosy  cheeks  of  the  deserted  foundling. 

"  Be  still,  and  do  not  weep,  my  poor  child ! 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  151 

You  have  a  Father  above, — one  who  is  a  Fa- 
ther to  us  all, — who  loves  you,  and  will  take 
care  of  you." 

"  No,  indeed,  sir,"  said  the  child,  while  he 
looked  full  into  the  face  of  the  stranger,  with 
his  fearless  and  lustrous  eyes,  "  no,  no,  I  have 
certainly  no  father! " 

"  Believe  me,  my  dear  son,  you  too  have  a 
Father, — a  good  and  powerful  Father.  He 
dwells  above  us,  in  the  depths  of  the  blue 
heavens,  but  he  is  also  everywhere  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth.  He  sees  you  always,  and 
always  takes  care  of  you.  His  name  is  GOD, 
the  Father." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  you  are  mistaken.  I  have 
hear  1  that  he  has  a  great  deal  to  do,  and  a 
great  many  worlds  to  take  care  of.  He  don't 
trouble  himself  about  a  poor,  forsaken  boy," 
said  the  child,  sadly. 

"  And  yet  he  has  numbered  the  very  hairs 
of  your  head,  and  not  a  single  one  falls  to  the 
ground  without  his  will,"  answered  the  stran- 
ger, earnestly. 

Walter  gazed  into  his  face  with  the  greatest 
astonishment;  then  ran  his  fingers  through  his 


152  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

thick  curls,  as  if  to  convince  himself  anew  of 
their  immense  number,  shook  his  head  sadly, 
and  said  unbelievingly:  "  No  hair  fall  from  my 
head  without  his  will!  It  has  also,  then,  been 
his  will  that  I  should  have  been  exposed  in 
the  hazel-bushes ;  and  that  Mother  Bopp 
should  beat  me  so  cruelly !  No  good  father, 
that  loved  his  child,  would  suffer  such  cruel 
things  to  happen  to  him." 

"  My  poor,  dear  boy!"  answered  the  stran- 
ger, deeply  touched,  "  God,  the  good  Father, 
has  certainly  permitted  that  you  should  have 
been  forsaken  when  an  infant,  and  have  been 
since  so  cruelly  maltreated.  Why  he  suffered 
such  things  to  be,  and  why  he  gave  me  a  form 
so  fantastic  and  deformed,  we  cannot  now 
know,  but  we  shall  know  his  merciful  motives 
when  we  no  longer  wear  these  earthly  gar- 
ments,—  when  we  are  with  the  good  Father 
in  heaven.  But  it  must  certainly  have  been 
for  our  own  benefit :  perhaps  it  was  necessary 
for  the  salvation  of  our  souls.  Believe  me, 
this  is  true,  my  son.  Trust  firmly  in  the  Fa- 
ther in  heaven  ;  he  is  both  good  and  powerful. 
Although  you  know  so  little  about  him,  he 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  153 

will  take  cars  of  you,  and  manifest  himself  at 
the  proper  hour.  But  the  night  is  rapidly  ap- 
proaching, and  I  must  go  back  to  the  town. 
Here,  my  son,  is  enough  to  pay  for  your 
night's  lodging.  If  you  would  like  to  see  me 
again,  do  not  mingle  with  the  people  who  at- 
tend the  Fair, — the  organ-grinders,  puppet- 
show  men,  and  the  like, — but  come  to  the 
town  in  the  morning,  and  inquire  for  the  house 
of  Mr.  Burg,  the  clock-maker ;  and  when  you 
have  found  it,  come  in,  and  you  shall  not  fare 
the  worse  for  our  accidental  meeting.  Fare- 
well, my  poor  boy !  Trust  in  the  Father  in 
heaven,  and  implore  him  for  his  gracious 
aid!"  He  rose  rapidly,  pressed  a  guinea  into 
the  child's  hand,  and  with  long  and  powerful 
strides  left  the  inclosure. 

Walter  remained  thoughtfully  sitting  upon 
the  bench.  At  last,  after  a  long  pause,  he 
murmured  lightly  to  himself:  "The  good  God 
cares  for  me,  and  no  single  hair  falls  from  my 
head  without  his  will;  I  must  trust  in  him! 
So  the  little  man  said."  His  voice  grew  more 
cheerful,  and,  looking  at  the  glitter  of  the  gold 
which  he  still  held  in  his  hand,  he  continued : 


154  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

"  Then  it  was  the  good  God  who  directed  that 
I  should  meet  the  kind  little  man,  and  that  he 
should  give  me  all  this  money  just  at  this 
moment,  when  I  have  not  a  single  cent  in  my 
pocket,  and  did  not  know  how  I  should  gain 
enough  to  pay  for  a  night's  lodging.  Yes, 
that  must  the  good  God  have  done  !  At  any 
rate,  I  must  thank  him  for  it,  for  the  little  man 
vanished  so  suddenly  that  I  had  no  time  to 
say  a  single  word  to  him." 

Walter  folded  his  hands,  and  made  a  short 
prayer,  such  as  his  childish  heart  dictated  to 
him.  He  then  took  his  violin,  went  content- 
edly into  the  house,  and,  as  his  benefactor 
had  advised  him  to  do,  sought  no  other  com- 
panions, but  went  to  bed  alone,  and  soon  fell 
asleep,  full  of  joyous  hopes. 

The  high-road  was  filled  with  people,  for 
the  Fair  enticed  both  sellers  and  buyers  to  the 
neighboring  town.  As  Walter  walked  cheer- 
fully along  under  the  shadow  of  the  tall  chest- 
nut-trees which  bordered  the  highway,  he 
hummed  a  song,  and  thought  of  the  good 
little  man.  Suddenly  a  coarse  voice  cried  to 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIStl  155 

him :  "  Good  morning,  little  fiddler !     Are  you 
going  to  the  town  ?  " 

Walter  looked  round,  and  recognized  the 
stout,  strong  man  whom  he  had  seen  the  day 
before,  and  who  was  walking  close  behind  him. 
A.  little  cart,  full  of  the  most  heterogeneous 
baggage,  was  drawn  by  a  dog,  and  driven  by 
a  boy  of  about  Walter's  own  age.  A  maiden 
somewhat  older  walked  behind  the  cart,  carry- 
ing a  harp  upon  her  back,  and  a  still  smaller 
girl,  who  also  took  a  part  in  the  exhibitions 
of  the  family,  ran  alongside.  As  Walter's  eye 
rapidly  glanced  over  the  members  of  the 
wandering  household,  he  took  off  his  hat,  and 
politely  answered  the  salutation  of  the  man. 

"  Now,  boy,  tell  me,  are  you  going  to  the 
town  in  order  to  earn  something  there  ?  "  said 
the  stout  man  to  Walter. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  answered  Walter. 

•'  Are  you  entirely  alone,  or  do  your  parents 
expect  you  there  ?  "  the  man  continued. 

"  I  am  entirely  alone !  "  sighed  the  boy. 

"  And  do  you  think  it  possible,  you  little 
fool,  to  get  on  by  yourself?  Have  you  a 
passport  and  a  certificate  from  your  home?." 


156  THE    \OUNG    ARTIST. 

"  No !  I  have  neither.  I  did  not  know  I 
should  need  them,"  answered  Walter. 

"  I  thought  so !  You  are  already  in  a 
scrape,  then.  There  are  officers  appointed 
by  the  government,  whose  duty  it  is  to  see 
that  all  strangers  possess  such  papers ;  they 
exact  them  from  everybody,  little  and  big, 
and  those  who  have  them  not  are  immedi- 
ately taken  up,  and  either  put  in  prison,  or 
sent  out  of  the  country  as  nuisances  and 
vagabonds." 

"  O,  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  that !  "  said 
Walter.  "  I  know  a  good  gentleman  in  the 
town,  who  would  certainly  help  me." 

"  Oh ! "  growled  the  man,  "  if  you  have  an 
acquaintance  in  the  town,  that  is  quite  another 
thing!  Rosa!  Rosa!  don't  be  running  about 
so  in  every  direction!  You'll  tire  yourself 
out  before  you  come  to  the  town,  and  then 
you  '11  not  be  fit  to  do  anything.  Come  to 
me,  and  I'll  carry  you  a  little!" 

He  raised  the  little  girl  in  his  arms,  and 
swung  her  upon  his  back.  The  child,  accus- 
tomed to  this  manner  of  being  carried,  fas- 
tened her  arms  and  feet  around  him,  and 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  157 

*rom  her  new  position  commenced  teasing 
ind  tormenting  her  sister,  in  no  very  refined 
manner. 

Walter  began  to  dislike  his  companions, 
and  to  feel  rather  uncomfortable  with  them, 
so  he  tried  to  walk  faster  than  they  were  doing 
so  as  to  leave  them  behind,  but  the  man  has- 
tened his  steps,  and  insisted  upon  keeping 
up  with  him.  After  a  short  time  he  said  to 
him :  "  Now,  tell  us,  boy,  what  is  the  name  of 
your  acquaintance?  If  he  is  rich  and  kind, 
he  will  probably  give  me,  who  am  very  poor 
indeed,  something  worth  looking  at,  if  I  make 
my  children  perform  for  him.  Where  does  he 
live?" 

"  His  name  is —  is  —  I  cannot  think  now 
of  his  name  !  Wait  a  minute !  O  yes  !  He 
said  I  must  ask  for  the  house  of —  of —  of — 
the  clock-maker.  Now,  what  was  the  name  ? 
Merciful  Heaven  !  Can*  I  have  forgotten  his 
name  ?  I  will  certainly  recall  it  in  9.  moment 
or  two." 

"  O  my  young  fellow !  "  said  the  man, 
while  he  laughed  very  loud,  "  you  are  really 
in  a  bad  fix !  A  friend,  whose  very  name 

14 


158  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

you  have  forgotten,  will  not  help  you  out  of 
the  hands  of  the  police." 

"  O,  I  shall  certainly  be  able  to  recall  it  to 
my  memory ! "  said  Walter,  with  the  tears 
running  down  his  cheeks. 

"My  poor  child!"  said  the  man,  earnestly, 
"  if  you  can't  remember  the  name  before  we 
arrive  at  the  entrance  of  the  town,  from  which 
we  are  riot  more  than  a  hundred  feet  distant, 
you  are  ruined.  The  police  keep  a  sharp 
look-out;  without  making  any  bones  about 
it,  they  will  seize  you  by  the  throat,  and 
throw  you  into  some  dark  jail.  Then,  in 
the  company  of  rats,  toads,  and  other  mon- 
sters, you  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  think 
of  the  name  of  your  kind  acquaintance ! " 

"  O  good  Heaven !  In  that  case,  I  will  not 
enter  the  town.  I  will  return,  and  remain  in 
the  village,"  sobbed  the  boy,  and  turned  rap- 
idly round  to  take  the  direction  back  to  the 
inn. 

"  I  really  pity  you,  poor  little  fellow !  "  said 
the  man,  while  he  held  him  fast  by  the  arm. 
"  You  will  be  able  to  earn  nothing  in  the 
village,  but  in  the  town  you  might  do  a  sure 


THE    YOUNQ    ARTIST.  159 

business.  I  am  a  good-hearted  fellow,  — 
I  wish  I  could  help  you !  H — m  !  h — m ! 
let  me  think  a  minute!  How  can  I  possibly 
do  it  ?  —  Yes,  yes !  I  have  it  now !  You  can 
stay  with  me  and  labor  with  us.  I  can  say 
you  are  my  son.  I  have  my  papers  in  my 
pocketbook,  and  they  state  that  I,  Christo- 
pher Pommer,  am  travelling  with  my  family." 
How  can  the  police  know  whether  I  have  one 
child  more  or  less  ?  If  you  are  satisfied  with 
my  proposal,  you  shall  live  with  us.  I  will 
furnish  you  with  enough  to  eat  and  drink  ; 
you  shall  live  with  me  as  one  of  my  children, 
and  I  will  give,  in  addition,  a  penny  every 
day.  There,  boy,  you  have  found  a  good 
friend  ;  everything  found  for  you,  and  a  penny 
a  day  clear!  You  see  I  am  rather  a  good-na- 
tured fool !  Now,  then,  are  you  agreed  ?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  what  you  will  require 
me  to  do,"  said  Walter,  doubtingly ;  "  for  I 
have  never  learned  to  twist  about  my  limbs 
as  you  do." 

"  Ah !  it  would  take  you  a  long  time  to 
learn  that,"  answered  the  man,  laughingly. 
"  You  will  only  have  to  do  what  you  like  to 


160  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

do,  —  to  play  upon  the  fiddle.  My  Minnie 
plays  upon  the  harp ;  you  can  play  together 
in  the  different  houses  and  in  the  streets,  and 
all  the  money  that  the  people  may  give  you 
for  it  you  are  to  bring  to  me.  You  see  it  is 
only  out  of-  the  kindness  of  my  heart  that  I 
offer  to  serve  you,  for  Minnie  can  earn  a's 
much  without  you  as  with  you ! " 

It  seemed  to  Walter  that  what  the  man 
said  was  true  enough.  It  was  certain  that 
Christopher  Pommer  and  his  family  did  not 
at  all  please  him;  but  then  he  had  a  perfect 
horror  of  jails  and  rats.  Yet  it  was  with  a 
feeling  of  irresistible  repulsion  that  he  en- 
tered into  the  proposed  arrangement. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  man,  with  his  harsh, 
disagreeable  laugh,  "  we  must  soon  commence 
our  preparations  for  business.  What  is  your 
name,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Walter,"  he  answered,  with  his  head  sink- 
ing upon  his  bosom. 

"  O  boy,  be  more  cheerful !  Don't  let  your 
head  hang  down  in  such  a  way !  I  must 
make  you  acquainted  with  your  brothers  and 
sisters,  for  we  are  almost  at  home.  Halloo, 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  161 

children !  Come  here !  You  must  learn  to 
know  your  new  brother.  This  is  he.  His 
name  is  Walter.  Walter,  this  is  Minnie,  with 
whom  you  are  to  play ;  this  boy  is  Bastian  ; 
and  the  child  upon  my  back  is  little  Rose." 

"  And  this  is  Nero,"  cried  Rose,  as  she 
pointed  to  the  dog  in  the  cart. 

"  True  enough,"  said  the  man,  "  he  belongs 
to  the  family,  and  earns  his  own  bread  with 
the  rest  of  us.  Once  for  all,  I  tell  you,  children, 
you  had  better  behave  yourselves  properly, 
or  —  or —  But  here  is  our  inn,  the  Black 
Bear ;  here  we  are  well  known  :  we  are  good 
old  friends.  We  will  take  a  bite  of  breakfast 
here,  arrange  our  dress  a  little,  and  then  go 
to  the  town  to  seek  work.  Whoever  brings 
the  most  money  back  with  him  shall  receive 
a  double  share.  But  when  it  strikes  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  everybody  must  be 
at  home.  You,  Walter,  must  first  practise 
a  couple  of  hours  with  Minnie ;  then  you  will 
go  through  the  town  together." 

"  Father,"  said  Bastian,  "  am  I  not  to  go 
with  Minnie,  and  play  upon  the  flute,  as  I 
always  do?" 

u* 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

"  No  ! "  answered  the  father,  gruffly  ;  "  you 
must  go  with  me.  You  know  we  were 
forced  to  leave  your  mother  at  home  sick, 
and  you  must  try  to  make  yourself  as  useful 
as  possible.  You  must  take  the  trumpet, 
and  blow  it  very  loud,  so  as  to  attract  a 
great  many  people." 

"  The  boy  you  have  picked  up  can  do  that. 
I  am  sure  he  looks  strong  enough  !  "  growled 
Bastian.  "  But  as  I  have  always  been  accus- 
tomed to  go  about  with  Minnie,  I  don't  in- 
tend to  give  it  up  to  him,  —  and  I  will  go 
with  her ! " 

"  Don't  mutter  such  nonsense,  boy,  or  I 
will  have  to  teach  you  obedience."  Then 
he  whispered  to  the  angry  flutist :  "  Did  n't 
you  hear  how  this  little  chap  managed  the 
fiddle  yesterday  ?  He  knows  something  about 
music,  and  plays  very  well ;  that  is  the  reason 
why  I  tried  to  frighten  him  into  staying  with 
us,  with  my  stories  about  the  police.  Be 
quiet  instantly,  so  that  he  may  not  suspect 
my  motives ! " 

In  the  mean  time  Walter  and  Minnie  had 
entered  the  inn.  As  soon  as  they  had  eaten 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  163 

their  breakfast,  they  began  to  pra  ctise  togeth- 
er. As  Minnie  could  only  strike  a  few  chords 
upon  the  harp,  she  could  soon  play  a  simple 
accompaniment  to  some  of  Walter's  pieces, 
and  as  he  already  knew  almost  all  of  the 
tunes  which  Bastian  had  executed  upon  the 
flute,  the  two  children  were  ready  at  the  ap- 
pointed time  to  commence  their  musical  wan- 
derings. 


Three  days  and  nights  had  elapsed  since 
Walter  had  been  adopted  as  a  member  of  the 
family  of  Pommer;  but  he  already  counted 
the  days  until  the  fair  should  be  over,  when 
he  might  again  wander  about  alone  from  vil- 
lage to  village,  for  he  felt  very  unhappy  in 
his  present  situation.  When  he  came  back 
with  Minnie  in  the  evening  tired  and  hun- 
gry to  the  house,  they  were  always  harsh- 
ly greeted,  for  Pommer  never  thought  they 
brought  enough  home,  and  constantly  accused 
them  of  having,  in  some  way,  wasted  the 
money  which  they  must  have  received.  The 
penny  promised  per  day  was  never  paid. 
Often  and  often  Walter  had  to  play  dances 


164 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 


until  daybreak,  for  the  most  degraded  ccm- 
pany,  in  the  hall  of  the  inn.  If  he  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  or  complained  of  fatigue, 
Pommer  threatened  to  deliver  him  up  to  the 
police,  and  the  fear  he  entertained  of  dark 
prisons  and  rats  soon  brought  him  to  yield  to 
the  most  unreasonable  demands. 

One  evening  when  Walter  had  played  for 
the  disorderly  dancers  until  long  after  mid- 
night, when  he  was  at  last  released  and 
sought  his  wretched  bed  of  straw,  he  found 
Pommer,  in  a  state  of  complete  intoxication, 
stretched  across  it  in  such  a  way  that  it  was 
quite  impossible  for  him  to  find  any  place 
upon  which  to  rest  his  tired  limbs.  He  slipped 
back  into  the  hall  of  the  inn,  and  threw  him- 
self, in  discomfort  and  dust,  upon  the  hard 
bench.  The  tears  unconsciously  and  rapidly 
streamed  from  his  eyes. 

"  Ah,  how  unfortunate  I  am ! "  he  sighed  ; 
' "  I  am  again  entirely  forsaken.  The  little 
man,  whose  name  I  have  so  unfortunately 
forgotten,  indeed  told  me  that  I  was  not  for- 
saken, and  that  nothing  could  happen  to  me 
without  the  will  of  God.  But  everything 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  165 

goes  wrong  with  me ;  what  is  to  become 
of  me  ?  If  it  is  indeed  God's  will  that  I 
should  be  so  miserable  and  so  forsaken  upon 
earth,  it  would  be  far  better  for  me  to  die ! 
O  thou  good  God  in  the  far  heavens!  if  it 
be  indeed  true  that  thou  canst  see  and  hear 
me  now,  I  beg  thee  with  all  my  soul,  let 
things,  if  only  for  this  one  time,  go  well  with 
me !  O  free  me  from  these  wicked  men, 
who  may  perhaps  succeed  in  making  me  as 
worthless  as  they  themselves  are !  Hast  thou 
really  seen  Father  Pommer  this  very  evening 
putting  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  the  red- 
faced  soldier,  and  stealing  his  purse  from  it  ? 
Dost  thou  not  know  that  it  must  be  a  very 
sad  thing  for  me  to  be  forced  to  call  a  thief 
father?  O  if  I  only  knew  if  my  own  fa- 
ther yet  lived,  and  where  I  could  find  him! 
Lead  me  to  him,  thou  good  God,  and  grant 
that  he  may  be  a  kind  one !  But  if  he  is 
really  dead,  then  at  least  take  me  out  of  the 
hands  of  these  bad  men  ! 

"  The  little  man  told  me  that  thou  wert  my 
Father  in  heaven  :  that  thou  thyself  lovedst 
me !  O  dear  Father  so  far  above  me !  I 


166  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

would  so  like  to  have  a  father  upon  earth, 
who  could  teach  how  to  do  right,  —  how  to 
avoid  wrong !  Do  send  me  one  !  I  will  love 
thee.  so  dearly  if  thou  wilt!  I  will  always 
obey  thee  and  thank  thee  !  O  remember 
how  early  I  was  forsaken,  —  into  what  cruel 
hands  I  have  always  fallen  !  O  thou  Father 
above,  listen  to  the  cries  of  the  forlorn  or- 
phan !  Pray,  pray,  pray  listen !  " 

The  boy  sank  to  sleep  with  these  prayers 
on  his  lips  ;  these  sad  thoughts  in  his  soul. 

At  daylight  in  the  morning  he  was  wakened 
by  the  harsh  voice  of  Pommer,  and  in  a  few 
moments  w  was  again  with  Minnie  in  the 
street. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


WALTER'S  FRIEND. 

"  Wilt  thou  draw  near  the  nature  of  the  gods  ? 
Draw  near  them,  then,  hi  being  merciful !  " 


THE  children  stood  before  a  very  handsome 
house,  and  played  many  of  their  best  pieces ; 
yet  no  window  was  opened,  no  friendly  face 
looked  out,  no  kind  hands  threw  gentle  gifts 
to  the  little  musicians.  The  children  and 
people  who  were  passing  by  would  indeed 
stop  and  look  at  them  for  a  moment ;  but  as 
soon  as  Walter  came  near  them  with  his  hat 
for  a  collection,  they  would  suddenly  turn 
upon  their  heels  and  go  away.  Minnie  and 
Walter  both  looked  sad,  for  it  was  almost 
noon,  and  their  pockets  were  yet  empty ;  they 
were  very  hungry,  and  unless  they  should 
chance  to  meet  with  some  wonderful  piece  of 


168  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

good  luck,  they  had  everything  to  fear  from 
the  anger  of  Father  Pommer  on  their  return 
in  the  evening. 

With  redoubled  eagerness  and  force  the 
children  were  playing  their  last  new  Polka. 
Walter's  eyes  were  steadily  fixed  upon  a  win- 
dow, from  which  he  thought  he  could  discern 
some  one  watching  them,  seated  behind  a  cur- 
tain, and  he  hoped  to  receive  something  from 
the  half-hidden  form.  But  he  felt  his  arm 
suddenly  seized  :  he  was  startled,  and  looked 
round  to  ascertain  what  it  could  be ;  and  in 
the  benevolent  face  that  was  gazing  upon  him 
he  instantly  recognized,  to  his  unutterable  de- 
light, the  little  man  whose  name  he  had  for- 
gotten, and  whom  he  had  so  longed  to  see. 

"  God  be  thanked  that  I  have  found  you ! 
that  you  are  really  'here !  Now,  indeed, 
everything  must  go  right !  "  he  cried,  almost 
beside  himself  with  joy,  as  he  extended  his 
hand  to  the  stranger. 

"  If  you  really  had  such  a  strong  desire  to 
see  me,  why  did  you  not  come  to  my  house  ? 
for  I  gave  you  my  name,  and  you  might 
easily  have  found  me,"  said  the  clock-maker. 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  169 

"  You  did,  indeed,  but  I  forgot  it !  I  could 
not  recollect  it :  that  was  my  bad  luck !  "  said 
the  poor  child  eagerly. 

"  Did  you  really  forget  my  name  ?  Did 
you  try  hard  to  recollect  it  ?  "  asked  the  lit- 
tle man,  doubtingly.  "  Come,  children,  they 
do  not  seem  inclined  to  give  you  anything 
here.  Come,  I  will  walk  with  you  a  little 
way." 

Minnie  took  her  harp,  looking  very  much 
astonished,  and  gazing  distrustfully  at  the 
watch-maker,  who  did  not  seem  to  concern 
himself  at  all  about  the  maiden.  He  asked 
Walter  to  tell  honestly  and  truly  all  thaj;  had 
happened  to  him  since  their  parting,  and  what 
he  had  done  to  support  himself. 

The  boy  related  concisely  all  that  had  oc- 
curred. He  told  him*  that,  having  no  pass- 
port, he  was  very  much  afraid  of  the  police, 
and  of  being  put  into  prison ;  but  that  the 
stout  man  had  taken  him  as  his  son,  and  that 
he  played!  about  in  all  the  streets  with  Min- 
nie, whc  accompanied  his  violin  with  the 
harp,  in  order  to  get  as  much  money  as 
they  could. 

15 


170  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

"  Then  you  have  found  a  father,  and  re 
quire  no  other?  "  said  the  clock-maker.    "  Now 
everything  goes  on   happily  with  you :   this 
wild  kind  of  life  suits  you,  and  you  desire 
nothing  better?" 

Tears  filled  the  large,  dark  eyes  of  the  poor 
orphan  ;  he  looked  sadly  at  the  stranger,  and 
shook  his  head. 

"  You  are  not  happy  ?  "  answered  the  stran- 
ger ;  "  if  you  will  try  to  accustom  yourself  to 
a  regular  and  industrious  life,  and  if  you  will 
promise  to  be  a  good,  truthful  boy,  you  may 
come  with  me.  I  will  take  you  into  my  own 
house,  and  take  care  of  you  as  long  as  you 
show  yourself  worthy  of  my  protection." 

Walter  remained  motionless  for  a  moment, 
as  if  turning  into  stone;  then  his  eyes  sparkled 
with  delight,  and  with  a  cry  of  joy  he  threw 
his  arms  round  the  neck  of  the  clock-maker, 
who  tried  to  calm  his  stormy  transport,  and 
said  to  him :  "  Gently !  gently,  my  boy !  the 
people  in  the  street  are  stopping  to  look  and 
laugh  at  us  as  they  go  by.  Once  inside  of 
my  house,  we  can  talk  about  it,  and  rejoice. 
Come  !  come  quickly  with  me  home  ! " 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  171 

But  Minnie  now  took  Walter's  hand,  and 
said  defiantly:  "  I  will  not  let  Walter  go  with 
you ;  he  must  stay  with  me,  because  I  cannot 
play  or  earn  anything  without  him.  My  fa- 
ther stands  at  the  corner  of  the  next  street ;  I 
will  go  and  bring  him  here,  for  I  am  sure  he 
will  never  consent  to  Walter's  leaving  us." 

Walter  clung,  trembling  all  over  with  fear, 
to  his  protector,  who  said  sternly  to  the  girl, 
while  he  filled  her  hand  with  small  coins : 
"  Here,  child !  here  is  more  money  than  you 
and  Walter  would  have  earned  all  day  to-day 
and  all  day  to-morrow  !  Your  father  has  no 
right  to  this  boy ;  tell  him  he  must  take  care 
to  do  nothing  more  against  the  laws,  or  I  will 
expose  him  to  the  police.  You  had  better  join 
him  now  ;  and  you,  Walter,  follow  me  !  " 

The  boy's  heart  throbbed  with  joy  when, 
having  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  he 
could  see  nothing  more  of  the  Pommer  fam- 
ily, and  he  found  himself  quite  alone  with  his 
benefactor.  He  kissed  his  hand  again,  and 
bounded  joyfully  on  beside  him.  The  little 
clock-maker  put  all  kind  of  questions  to  him, 
which  the  boy  readily  and  candidly  answered. 


172  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

The  face  of  the  little  man  grew  more  and 
more  friendly  and  cheerful.  They  soon  ar- 
rived at  the  house.  They  opened  a  hand- 
somely ornamented  iron  gate,  and  stepped 
into  a  pretty  garden.  The  paths  were  strewed 
with  gravel,  the  beds  were  well  laid  out,  and 
bordered  with  boxwood.  Lilacs,  pinks,  roses, 
lilies,  and  many  other  beautiful  flowers,  smiled 
in  luxuriant  and  variegated  bloom  around. 
In  the  midst  of  this  neat  garden  stood  a  small 
dwelling-house,  whose  white  walls  were  al- 
most hidden  by  the  clinging  vines,  which 
seemed  to  love  to  twine  about  them.  In  front 
of  the  house  there  was  a  small  place  shaped 
like  a  semicircle,  strewed  nicely  over  with 
sand  almost  as  white  and  shining  as  silver, 
which  was  partly  shaded  by  a  trellised  wood- 
bine, and  partly  by  the  low  and  spreading 
branches  of  a  large  apple-tree.  A  small  table 
and  several  seats  stood  in  this  place,  and  a 
very  pretty  spinning-wheel,  pushed  a  little  to 
one  side,  betrayed  that  the  spinner  had  just 
left  the  spot.  Mr.  Burg  called  softly,  "  Chris- 
tina !  "  and  the  called  one  made  her  appear- 
ance immediately  on  the  threshold  of  the 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  173 

house.  Christina  was  the  twin-sister  of  the 
clock-maker  Burg.  Like  him,  she  was  very 
short,  but  she  was  well  formed.  She  wore  a 
dark-colored  dress,  and  a  cap  and  neck-hand- 
kerchief of  dazzling  whiteness,  while  the  large 
bunch  of  keys  which  were  fastened  to  her  side 
spoke  of  household  cares  and  household  thrift. 

"  Here,  Christina ! "  said  Burg,  in  a  tone 
which  betrayed  suppressed  emotion,  "  here  is 
Walter,  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken  to 
you.  He  will  be  our  son,  and  make  us  happy. 
Sweetest  sister,  I  think  I  have  brought  you  a 
treasure  to  be  valued,  as  a  present  from  the 
fair!" 

Christina  took  the  boy,  who  was  almost  as 
tall  as  herself,  in  her  arms,  and  pressed  him  to 
her  heart;  then  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
brow,  and  said,  with  a  tender  yet  solemn  voice : 
"  God  bless  thy  entrance  into  this  house,  my 
dear  child!  May  his  Holy  Spirit  descend 
upon  thee,  so  that  thou  mayest  become  a 
pious  Christian  and  a  useful  man !  May  his 
grace  be  with  thee  evermore !  Amen ! " 

The  tears  rushed  to  "Walter's  eyes, — he  did 
not  himself  know  why,  for  the  soft,  friendly 

15* 


174  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

face  of  Christina  inspired  no  sadness  or  timid- 
ity, but  the  most  heartfelt  confidence. 

"  I  have  found  the  boy  in  the  street,  my 
sweet  sister,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  is 
really  suffering  with  hunger.  I  hope  your 
pantry  is  full  enough  to  satisfy  the  appetite  of 
the  starving  child." 

"  Do  not  be  afraid  of  that,"  said  Christina, 
laughing.  "  As  I  have  expected  the  arrival  of 
our  son  every  hour  during  the  last  three  days, 
I  have  provided  for  all  his  wants.  Come! 
come  in,  brother,  and  see ! " 

Everything  was  clean  and  neat  in  the  little 
house ;  everything  seemed  to  correspond  with 
the  character  of  the  brother  and  sister.  That 
especially  pleased  Walter.  His  new  parents 
took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  about  the 
house,  showing  him  the  cheerful  sitting-room 
with  its  vine-curtained  windows.  At  one  of 
these  windows  stood  a  table,  with  very  fine 
tools  upon  it,  and  several  watches  hanging 
near  it,  suspended  to  the  wall ;  at  the  other, 
the  sewing-table  of  Christina  was  placed,  her 
comfortable  cushioned  chair,  and  her  footstool. 
The  brother  and  sister  worked  together  in  the 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  175 

same  room,  and  it  was  only  over  some  very 
delicate  piece  of  mechanism  that  the  clock- 
maker  shut  himself  up  in  the  apartment  at 
the  other  side  of  the  house.  A  savory  smell 
of  a  good  dinner  proceeded  from  the  clean 
kitchen,  and  it  was  very  agreeable  to  poor, 
hungry  Walter.  They  led  him  about  into  all 
the  rooms  and  chambers ;  at  last  they  took  him 
up  a  story  higher,  into  a  lovely  little,  friendly 
room.  A  neat  bed,  covered  with  a  white  quilt, 
stood  near  the  wall ;  chairs,  tables,  a  bureau 
and  a  wardrobe,  a  dressing-glass  and  a  hand- 
some timepiece,  were  all  in  their  appropriate 
places,  and  the  snowy  window-curtains  gave 
the  room  a  most  comfortable  appearance. 

"  How  do  you  like  this  chamber  ? "  said 
Christina,  friendlily,  to  Walter. 

"  O,  it  is  delightful !  Even  the  Mayor  him- 
self in  Geremberg  has  not  a  single  room  as 
beautiful  as  this  one  is." 

"  This  is  your  own  little  room,  my  boy,'* 
said  Christina.  "  You  are  to  sleep  in  this 
quiet  bed,  and  if  you  never  forget  to  say  your 
evening  prayers  devoutly,  God's  winged  an- 
gels will  watch  over  your  sleep." 


176  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

"  Me  ?  Am  I  really  to  sleep  in  this  soft, 
white,  beautiful  bed  ?  "  said  the  delighted  boy 
to  his  benefactress.  "  Ah,  I  have  never  seen 
one  half  so  beautiful !  I  have  always  slept 
upon  straw,  or  upon  the  bare  ground.  O  dear 
sir !  O  dear,  kind  lady !  how  very  good  you 
are  to  poor,  forsaken  Walter ! " 

He  threw  his  arms  around  them  both,  and 
then  sprang  delightedly  about,  gazing  on  ev- 
erything around  him  with  rapturous  and  grate- 
ful astonishment. 

"  As  several  days  have  passed  since  we  first 
expected  you,"  said  Christina,  "  I  have  pro- 
vided clean  linen  and  new  clothes  for  you, 
which  I  think  will  fit  you.  You  will  find  ev- 
erything ready  for  you  in  this  wardrobe.  You 
must  wash  yourself  very  clean,  comb  your  fine 
hair  nicely,  put  on  your  new  clothes,  and  al- 
ways try  to  keep  yourself  very  neat.  We 
should  suffer  no  stain  upon  us,  —  neither  upon 
our  souls  nor  our  clothing.  Make  haste,  my 
son,  and  get  ready.  In  the  mean  time,  I  will 
set  the  table,  and  flavor  the  soup." 

With  a  friendly  greeting,  Christina  left  them, 
while  Burg  stayed  to  help  the  boy  to  dress. 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  177 

When  Walter  was  well  washed,  combed,  and 
dressed  in  his  new  clothes,  his  appearance  was 
strikingly  handsome.  The  clock-maker  looked 
at  him  with  undisguised  pleasure,  while  the 
boy  exclaimed,  in  grateful  rapture, — 

"  My  dear,  dear  sir,  how  am  I  to  thank 
you  ?  how  am  I  ever  to  compensate  you  for 
all  this  ?  " 

"I  shall  be  fully  compensated,  if  you  will 
only  be  good  and  obedient,"  answered  Burg. 
"  But  before  all  things  else,  thank  God,  my 
son  !  He  has  led  you,  in  the  most  wonderful 
manner,  through  much  tribulation,  to  us.  It 
was  certainly  his  kind  hand  which  led  me  to 
you,  just  when  I  had  determined  to  seek  out, 
and  adopt  as  my  own,  some  forsaken  orphan. 
Do  you  not  acknowledge  that  you  have  a  Fa- 
ther in  heaven,  who,  even  when  he  appeared  to 
have  forsaken  you,  yet  wonderfully  led  you 
upon  the  right  way  ?  " 

Walter  was  silent,  and  seemed  lost  in 
thought.  "  Yes,"  he  at  last  replied,  "  yes,  I 
now  see  that  he  has  graciously  cared  for  me. 
Last  night,  I  prayed  to  him  with  all  my  heart 
that  he  would  let  things  go  well  with  me,  if 


178  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

only  for  once  ;  and  see !  already  to-day  he  has 
heard  and  fulfilled  my  prayer!  I  believe  that, 
if  I  had  learned  to  pray  to  him  sooner,  he 
would  never  have  let  it  gone  so  badly  with 
me." 

"  Never  forget  it,  then,  in  the  future,  my 
son,"  said  Burg.  "  Trust  always  in  the  good 
Father  above,  with  a  childlike  and  firm  faith  ; 
and  even  if  you  should  be  unfortunate  in  this 
life,  never  cease  to  rely  upon  the  only  firm 
support,  —  the  Father  above." 

"  Yes,  yes,  dear  sir !  I  will  certainly  trust 
him,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Call  me  no  longer  '  Dear  sir,'  but  '  Dear 
father';  and  call  my  sister,  '  Mother.'  With 
God's  help,  we  will  try  to  be  kind  and  consci- 
entious parents  to  you  ;  and  I  believe  you  will 
be  a  pious  and  true  son,"  said  Burg,  as  he 
kindly  pressed  the  hands  of  the  orphan. 

Christina's  clear  voice  now  called  them  to 
dinner.  As  they  entered  the  dining-room,  her 
eyes  fell  upon  Walter.  She  looked  aston- 
ished, and  yet  full  of  contentment,  for  his 
beauty  was  very  striking  in  the  neat  clothes 
which  her  care  had  provided  for  him. 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  179 

Walter  was,  as  if  through  magic,  suddenly 
transported  into  a  life  differing  in  ail  things 
from  the  life  of  his  earlier  days.  He  had  been 
abused  and  forsaken,  —  driven  from  the  only 

•r 

home  he  had  ever  known;  he  had  struggled 
with  cold  and  want,  and  lived  in  poverty,  hun- 
ger, and  dirt.  He  now  lived  in  the  bosom  of 
a  tranquil,  industrious,  and  pious  family.  The 
brother  and  sister,  secluded  from  the  noisy 
world,  surrounded  by  their  beautiful  garden, 
and  in  the  possession  of  a  fortune  more  than 
adequate  to  their  wants,  led  a  pious  and  char- 
itable life.  Christina's  character  was  child- 
like and  simple.  She  had  never  known  nor 
ever  desired  any  other  happiness  than  to  serve 
God  and  to  love  her  twin-brother.  With  a 
far  keener  intellect,  the  brother's  character,  in 
its  simplicity  and  piety,  resembled  that  of  the 
sister.  He  was  an  excellent  clock-maker,  but 
he  gave  his  clocks  into  other  hands  to  be  sold, 
as  he  knew  nothing  of  trading,  and  hated  to 
be  annoyed  with  it.  He  said  it  disturbed  the 
quiet  of  his  soul,  and  wasted  his  valuable 
time.  His  favorite  employment  was  to  im- 
agine ingenious  and  artistic  fancy  works,  and 


180  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

set  them  in  motion  by  clock-work.  He  never 
sold  any  of  these.  He  kept  them  in  his  parlor, 
and  on  festival  occasions  he  would  exhibit 
them  to  his  own  and  his  sister's  friends.  He 
had  made,  among  other  things,  a  very  com- 
plete paper-mill,  and  a  most  beautiful  church. 
In  the  paper-mill,  the  mill-clappers  rattled  up 
and  down,  the  wheels  ran  merrily  round,  the 
mechanism  worked  well,  and  all  the  prepara- 
tions for  making  paper  were  really  there ;  ev- 
erywhere was  seen  the  appropriate  labor,  and 
at  last  tiny  sheets  of  real  paper  were  made, 
which  the  mechanist  would  kindly  distribute 
among  his  own  and  his  sister's  friends,  as  re- 
membrancers of  them  and  of  his  novel  inven- 
tion. The  church  was  lighted  up,  the  many- 
colored  windows  glittered,  the  bells  rang,  the 
organ  played,  and  people  were  seen  going  in 
at  the  various  doors,  and  walking  round  in  the 
beautiful  building.  These  pieces  of  artistic 
mechanism  were  his  delight ;  he  often  passed 
whole  nights  without  sleep  in  inventing  and 
executing  things  still  more  curious  and  inge- 
nious. The  pastor  of  the  parish,  and  his  wife, 
were  his  most  intimate  friends  ;  indeed,  it  was 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  181 

only  upon  rare  occasions  that  any  other  guests 
were  to  be  met  in  his  house. 

The  brother  and  sister  had  lived  together 
nearly  half  a  century  in  unbroken  peace,  in 
heartfelt  unity  and  love,  when  the  melancholy 
thought  presented  itself  to  them,  that  after 
their  death  there  would  be  no  one  to  inherit 
their  highly  improved  property,  no  one  to  take 
care  of  and  cherish  the  works  of  mechanism ! 
invented  by  the  clock-maker,  no  one  to  whom 
Christina  could  confide  her  pretty  house,  and 
carefully  and  tastefully  cultivated  garden. 
They  consulted  seriously  together  what  would 
be  best  to  do.  We  will  leave  it  for  the  ben- 
efit of  the  poor,  said  they  with  one  voice;  but 
they  sighed,  and  looked  sadly  around  them. 

"  Our  beloved  house  and  garden  must  in 
that  case  be  sold,"  sighed  Christina.  "  God 
only  knows  in  what  hands  it  will  fall,  and 
how  it  will  be  taken  care  of!  All  that  I  have 
planted  and  nurtured  with  so  much  love  will 
be  rooted  up,  or  trampled  under  foot !  " 

"  And  all  my  beautiful  works  of  art  will  be 
sold,"  said  the  brother,  in  a  still  more  melan- 
choly tone.  "  If  an  unskilful  hand  touches 

16 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

them,  if  a  single  wheel  gets  out  of  order, 
they  are  ruined  for  ever ! " 

"  It  is  very  sad,  indexl !  "  said  they  both. 

"  Yes,  Christina,  it  is  truly  melancholy," 
again  commenced  the  clock-maker,  after  a 
long  pause ;  "  but  it  is  very  sinful  to  attach 
ourselves  so  firmly  to  such  fleeting  things. 
During  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  man  is 
•Constantly  forced  to  struggle  with  himself  that 
he  may  not  break  the  holy  commandment : 
1  Thou  shalt  have  no  other  gods  before  me.' 
Our  clinging  so  firmly  to  these  passing  things 
of  earth  is  nothing  but  a  species  of  idolatry. 
Therefore,  my  dearest  sister,  we  will  try  to 
free  ourselves  from  the  thraldom  of  this  sin  ; 
we  will  simply  leave  our  property  to  the  poor, 
and  give  ourselves  no  trouble  about  what 
shall  become  of  it  after  we  are  dead  and 
gone ! " 

Christina  secretly  wiped  the  tears  from  her 
streaming  eyes,  answered  nothing,  but  spun 
industriously  on.  After  a  considerable  time 
had  elapsed,  she  said,  in  a  trembling  tone: 
"  Listen  to  me,  my  dear  brother !  I  would 
like  to  make  a  proposition  to  you,  which  I 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  183 

have  long  cherished  in  silence.     What  do  you 

V 

think  of  our  taking  some  poor,  forsaken  or- 
phan child  into  the  house,  bringing  it  up  to 
truth  and  industry,  and  adopting  it  as  our 
own  son  or  daughter?  We  might  then  divide 
our  property  between  it  and  other  poor  peo- 
ple. In  this  way  we  might  fulfil  our  own 
wishes  without  being  guilty  of  the  sin  of  idol- 
atry. Indeed,  who  knows  but  that,  through* 
our  careful  instruction  and  education,  we 
might  aid  in  saving  the  soul  of  some  unfor- 
tunate orphan  ?  " 

The  brother  gazed  upon  her  with  approving 
and  deep  tenderness.  "  My  dear  Christina," 
he  said,  "  have  you  considered  fully  how  much 
trouble,  anxiety,  and  care  the  reception  of  such 
a  charge  would  entail  upon  you  ?  " 

"  O,  no  thought  of  that  kind  should  ever 
prevent  me,"  she  answered.  "  I  love  children 
dearly,  and  I  have  long  wished  to  have  the 
charge  of  one.  I  will  make  but  little  account 
of  care,  anxiety,  and  trouble  for  myself,  if  with 
the  help  of  the  Lord  we  can  only  succeed  in 
bringing  a  forsaken  child  up  to  be  a  good 
Christiar.  Then  it  would  doubtless  love  us 


184  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

as  if  it  were  really  our  own.  The  human 
heart  constantly  longs  for  love ;  and,  as  we 
grow  older,  what  could  be  a  greater  source  of 
pure  pleasure  for  us,  than  to  have  a  young, 
innocent,  loving,  childlike  creature  constantly 
with  us  ?  " 

The  brother  sprang  to  his  feet,  seized  Chris- 
tina in  his  arms,  kissed  her  fondly,  and  said : 
"  Sister,  your  words  flow  from  my  own 
heart !  I  have  long  cherished  the  same  wish, 
but  could  not  venture  to  ask  you  to  assume 
this  additional  burden.  But  now  all  things 
seem  to  have  arranged  themselves  in  the  hap- 
piest manner ;  and  with  God's  help  we  will 
soon  find  the  child  we  seek  !  " 

The  good  people  made  a  happy  choice  in 
selecting  Walter ;  or  rather  God  had  gra- 
ciously provided  for  the  fulfilment  of  their 
wishes,  and  led  to  them  the  forsaken  boy. 
They  brought  him  up  with  prudence  and  with 
love.  His  many  and  excellent  faculties  were 
developed  in  the  highest  degree  through  the 
best  of  teachers.  The  good  pastor  was  his 
instructor  in  all  that  belonged  to  religion, 
while  the  truly  Christian  life  of  the  pious 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  185 

brother  and  sister  exerted  a  m?st  beneficial 
influence  upon  the  heart  of  the  poor  boy,  and 
all  the  bad  habits  which  he  had  acquired  from 
the  vicious  examples  which  had  been  con- 
stantly before  his  eyes,  from  the  first  moment 
of  the  precocious  awakening  of  his  intelli- 
gence until  his  fortunate  reception  into  the 
house  of  his  present  protectors,  rapidly  and 
for  ever  vanished.  His  days  always  began 
and  ended  with  prayer,  and  the  consciousness 
of  the  perpetual  presence  of  the  Almighty,  in 
the  fulness  of  his  strange  love  and  enduring 
mercy,  was  with  him  in  the  hours  of  labor 
and  the  moments  of  relaxation. 

Burg  was  anxious  that  Walter  should  adopt 
his  own  profession,  so  that  when  he  became 
the  inheritor  of  his  property  he  might  also  in- 
herit his  artistic  skill.  But  Walter  evinced 
no  disposition  to  embrace  it.  He  was  aston- 
ished at  the  works  of  art,  clapped  his  hands 
joyfully  at  the  appearance  of  life  in  the  move- 
ments of  the  diminutive  figures,  and  wished 
he  had  the  skill  to  make  them  ;  but  his  desire 
rapidly  vanished  when  he  saw  his  adopted  fa- 
ther at  work.  His  attention  was  only  fastened 

16* 


186  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

upon  such  objects,  by  their  entire  novelty,  for 
a  few  moments  ;  then  he  would  bound  away 
to  bring  his  beloved  violin,  and  play  hour  after 
hour  upon  it  with  real  joy  of  heart.  The 
clock -maker  soon  knew  what  were  Walter's 
peculiar  talents,  and,  very  far  from  wishing  to 
contend  with  the  gifts  of  nature,  at  once  re- 
linquished his  own  cherished  wish.  He  shall 
have  every  opportunity  to  cultivate  his  genius. 
he  said  to  himself;  I  will  give  him  every  ad- 
vantage. He  took  his  adopted  son  by  the 
hand,  and  led  him  to  the  town,  where  he 
placed  him  with  a  master  of  high  distinction. 
The  master  tested  the  talents  of  the  boy  for 
music,  and  found  them  so  quick  and  promis- 
ing that  he  readily  undertook  their  cultivation. 
A  new  life  dawned  for  Walter ;  he  lived  in 
and  for  music ;  for  he  now  heard  it  in  a  per- 
fection of  which  he  had  never  dreamed  in  his 
childish  years.  He  pursued  his  studies  with 
assiduity  and  delight,  and  soon  surpassed  all 
his  associates.  His  master  was  astonished  at 
the  rapidity  of  his  progress,  and  every  day 
increased  his  attachment  to  the  talented  boy. 
After  a  comparatively  short  time  he  found  him 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  187 

sufficiently  advanced  to  introduce  him  into 
the  study  of  harmony,  and  thus  to  open  a 
way  for  him  into  the  very  depths  of  the  art 
he  loved.  The  glowing  and  creative  imagina- 
tion of  the  boy  now  found  the  proper  element 
in  which  to  work,  while  laws  and  rules  based 
on  nature  opened  and  defined  his  paths 
through  the  boundless  regions  of  the  tone 
world. 

Years  sped  on.  The  days  which  he  passed 
in  the  peaceful  home  of  his  kind  protectors, 
sheltered  and  cherished  by  their  constant  love 
and  care,  warmed  and  lighted  by  the  glitter- 
ing rays  of  the  science  he  loved,  were  as  hap- 
py as  those  of  his  earlier  childhood  had  been 
miserable.  In  later  years  he  often  spoke,  with 
rapturous  gratitude,  of  the  untroubled  bliss  of 
the  studious,  youthful,  innocent  days  of  his 
first  introduction  into  the  enchanted  realm 
of  Art. 


CHAPTER   V. 

WALTER    AN    ARTIST. 

"In  diligent  toil,  thy  master  is  the  bee  ; 
In  craft  mechanical,  the  worm,  that  creeps 
Through  earth  its  dexterous  way,  may  tutor  thee ; 
In  knowledge  (couldst  thou  fathom  all  the  deeps), 
All  to  the  seraph  are  already  known ; 
But  thine,  0  man,  is  Art,  —  thine  wholly  and  alone ! " 

CHRISTINA  sat  in  her  full  Sunday  attire 
upon  her  cushioned  chair ;  she  looked  very 
much  excited,  and  a  restlessness,  quite  un- 
wonted in  her  usually  calm  face,  exhibited 
itself  in  her  whole  demeanor.  Her  small 
hands  were  folded  together,  and  the  tears 
which  trembled  upon  her  eyelashes,  and  found 
their  way  down  her  sweet  face,  showed  that, 
though  her  prayers  were  offered  up  in  silence, 
they  came  notwithstanding  from  the  very 
depths  of  her  heart.  A  tall  boy,  with  a  joy- 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  189 

«•  us  face,  now  broke  suddenly  into  her  room : 
t  was  the  twelve-year-old  Walter. 

"  My  darling  mother,  have  I  dressed  myself 
as  you  would  like  me  to  do  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he 
placed  himself  immediately  before  Christina, 
whom  he  had  already  outgrown. 

"  Kneel  down  here  upon  my  footstool,  my 
son,"  said  Christina  to  him,  "  that  I  may  see 
if  your  shirt-collar  fits  neatly." 

Walter,  humming  a  song,  instantly  obeyed. 
Christina  arranged  his  dark  and  shining  locks, 
pulled  the  fine,  dazzlingly  white  shirt-collar 
quite  straight,  and  shook  off  a  little  dust 
which  had  just  settled  upon  his  new  suit  of 
fine  cloth.  She  then  gazed  lovingly  at  him, 
threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  kissed  his 
brow  tenderly,  and,  in  a  tone  quivering  with 
emotion,  said, — 

"  May  God  be  with  you,  my  dear  boy ! 
May  his  blessing  rest  upon  the  events  of 
this  evening ! " 

Burg  now  entered  the  room  with  his  hat 
in  his  hand,  and  announced  that  the  carriage 
was  at  the  door.  He  too  gazed  upon  his 
adopted  son  with  tender  emotion ;  he  em- 


190  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

braced  him  in  silence,  then,  helping  his  sister 
to  put  on  her  cloak,  he  led  them  both  to  the 
carriage,  which  stood  at  the  gate  of  the  pretty 
garden. 

That  the  secluded  brother  and  sister  should 
have  driven  to  the  town  in  a  carriage,  and  in 
full  dress,  would  have  excited  the  astonish- 
ment of  all  their  neighbors,  had  it  not  been 
generally  known  that  Walter  was  to  make 
his  first  appearance  before  the  public,  that  he 
was  to  play  at  a  concert  which  was  to  take 
place  that  very  evening.  How  willingly  would 
all  the  good  people  of  the  neighborhood  have 
crowded  into  the  brilliantly  lighted  hall,  to 
have  heard  the  boy  whom  they  all  loved  show 
his  skill  in  his  beloved  art !  That,  however, 
could  not  be ;  but  they  thought  it  very  natural 
that  Christina,  who  never  left  the  house  ex- 
cept to  go  to  church,  should  in  this  case  make 
an  exception  to  the  general  rule. 

The  concert-room  was  crowded  to  over- 
flowing. After  the  last  notes  of  the  overture 
had  died  away,  Walter  stepped  forward,  and 
bowed  calmly  and  gracefully  to  the  throng. 
Struck  with  the  agreeable  expression  and 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  191 

bearing  of  the  boy,  a  light  murmur  of  appro- 
bation pervaded  the  whole  assembly.  He 
played  one  of  the  concertos  of  Beethoven. 
His  tone  was  pure  and  sweet,  his  execution 
full  of  power  and  energy.  Overcoming  every 
difficulty  with  apparent  ease,  he  stormed 
through  the  allegro,  exciting  a  feeling  of  as- 
tonishment in  his  countless  hearers ;  while  in 
the  adagio  his  melting  tones  pressed  into  the 
depths  of  every  heart,  appealing  to  the  feel- 
ings as  music  only  can.  Such  repeated  ac- 
clamations, such  noisy  applauses,  broke  from 
the  dense  mass  before  him  when  he  had  fin- 
ished, that  the  boy  was  actually  frightened, 
and,  without  making  the  usual  bows  and 
acknowledgments,  sprang  back  and  hid  him- 
self among  the  musicians  of  the  orchestra. 
But  the  cries  did  not  cease,  for  the  audience 
were  determined  to  greet  again  the  little  artist. 
Then  the  chapel-master  took  the  blushing  boy 
by  the  hand,  led  him  again  in  front  of  the 
orchestra,  and  showed  with  proud  joy  to  the 
excited  public  his  favorite  and  cherished  pu- 
pil. Again  rang  the  clamor  of  applauses  loud 
and  long  ;  repeated  and  enthusiastic  cries  of 


192  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

Encore !  encore !  Bravo  !  bravo !  seemed  to 
rend  the  very  air. 

Happy,  —  yet  abashed  and  half-frightened 
Walter! 

The  tears  ceased  not  to  ^flow  from  the 
streaming  eyes  of  Christina.  When  she 
heard  the  darling  of  her  soul  play,  as  she 
had  never  heard  him  play  before,  he  seemed 
to  her  almost  strange  and  wonderful,  and  her 
heart  trembled  within  her;  while  her  breast 
heaved  anxiously  and  almost  shudderingly  at 
the  loud,  stormy,  and  never-ending  applauses 
which  were  offered  to  the  child  of  her  love. 
She  scarcely  understood  their  full  import,  for 
she  had  never  attended  a  concert  before  ;  she 
looked  anxiously  into  the  face  of  her  brother, 
who  was  standing  near  her  seat.  He  was 
deeply  moved ;  he  grasped  and  pressed  her 
hand,  tears  trembled  in  his  large,  protruding 
eyes,  the  corners  of  his  mouth  were  twitching 
with  excitement,  and  the  strange  contortions 
of  face  which  he  made  to  try  to  conceal  his 
emotion,  had  an  almost  comic  effect.  This 
was  remarked  by  some  of  the  young  people 
in  his  neighborhood ;  they  whispered  to  each 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  193 

other,  pointed  him  out  to  others  who  were 
near,  and  lorgnettes  and  opera-glasses  were 
instantly  directed  upon  the  strange  appear- 
ance of  the  deformed  clock-maker.  As  soon 
as  he  observed  this,  he  immediately  withdrew 
himself  from  observation.  He  left  his  place, 
pressed  towards  the  door,  escaped  from  the 
concert-hall,  and  the  sea  of  tones  whose 
waves  were  now  rising,  now  falling,  in  their 
stormful  play.  He  felt  that  he  must  be  alone 
with  God,  under  the  holy  arch  of  the  starlit 
heavens,  in  order  to  pour  out  unobserved  the 
thronging  emotions  of  his  excited  heart. 

The  concert  was  over.  Burg  returned  to 
the  hall  to  seek  Christina  and  Walter.  He 
was  detained  sometime  in  the  door-way  by 
the  press  of  the  hurrying  throng.  At  last, 
however,  he  reached  his  sister,  who  told  him 
that  the  chapel-master  had  taken  Walter  away 
to  introduce  him  to  a  noble  family,  who  loved 
and  patronized  art,  who  gave  a  party  this 
evening  particularly  to  the  artists  and  the 
friends  of  music;  and  as  Walter  had  been 
particularly  invited  by  the  cultivated  Countess 
W ,  whose  patronage  might  be  of  the 

17 


194  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

greatest  service  to  him,  it  would  not  be  ad- 
visable or  courteous  to  refuse  the  kind  invi- 
tation. 

"  It  is  really  painful  to  my  heart  to  be 
obliged  to  give  up  Walter,  upon  this  evening 
particularly  !  "  said  Christina.  "  But  I  did 
not  know  what  to  do ;  I  could  not  see  you 
anywhere,  and  the  chapel-master  was  so 
pressing,  and  in  such  a  hurry !  I  strongly 
recommended  to  our  dear  son,  however,  to 
be  very  prudent,  and  not  to  suffer  himself  to 
be  made  vain,  or  to  be  spoiled !  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry ! "  said  Burg.  "  But  it 
cannot  be  helped.  Come,  Christina ! " 

He  led  his  sister  to  the  carriage,  and  was 
silent  and  serious  during  the  whole  drive 
home,  as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  being  when 
immersed  in  thought.  A  few  words  of  deep 
and  highly  excited  feeling  were  exchanged  by 
the  brother  and  sister  upon  the  subject  of 
Walter's  brilliant  success  on  his  first  ap- 
pearance before  the  public,  and  hopes  and 
fears  alternated  in  their  loving,  simple  hearts. 
Wearied  by  the  unwonted  excitement  of  the 
day,  Christina  went  early  to  rest ;  while  Burg 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  JL95 

opened  a  large  book,  and  lighted  another  lamp, 
>.o  await  the  arrival  of  Walter  home. 

Twelve  strokes  slowly  sounded  upon  the  va- 
rious clocks  in  the  house,  telling  Burg  it  was 
already  midnight.  He  rose,  as  he  shut  the 
book  of  Chronicles  in  which  he  had  been  read- 
ing, opened  his  window,  and  looked  anxiously 
out  into  the  dark  night.  After  a  considerable 
time  had  elapsed,  he  thought  he  heard  the  dis- 
tant rolling  of  a  carriage ;  it  drew  nearer,  —  it 
stopped  before  the  garden  gate.  "  At  last !  " 
said  Burg,  heaving  a  deep  sigh,  as  he  closed 
the  window.  Almost  immediately  after,  the 
door  opened,  and  Walter  entered. 

"  Good  evening,  my  dear  son !  At  last,  at 
last  I  see  you  again,"  said  Burg,  as  he  rapidly 
advanced  to  meet  him. 

"  O  my  father !  "  cried  Walter,  as  he  threw 
himself  into  his  arms,  "  what  an  evening  I 
have  spent !  how  happy  I  am ! " 

Burg  gazed  inquiringly  into  the  glowing 
face  of  the  boy ;  it  shone  with  intense  excite- 
ment and  proud  joy. 

"  You  are  still  very  much  excited,  my  child. 
You  will  find  it  quite  impossible  to  go  to  sleep 


196  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

in  such  a  state.     Come,  then,  sit  down  beside 
me,  and  tell  me  all  that  has  happened." 

"  O  father,  if  you  had  only  seen  how  much 
they  have  all  honored  me  !  I  was  dreadfully 
frightened,  at  first,  with  the  terrible  noise  they 
made  in  the  concert-room ;  but  the  chapel-mas- 
ter says  that  was  very  stupid  in  me,  and  that 
one  soon  grows  accustomed  to  all  that.  The 
Count  laughed  at  me  for  running  away,  very 
much,  at  first,  and  said  I  must  learn  to  bear  still 
higher  marks  of  honor;  that  I  must  learn  to 
wear  the  immortal  crown  of  laurels,  for  that, 
young  as  I  am,  I  could  already  take  my  place 
with  the  true  artists ;  that  in  a  few  years  I 
would  surpass  them  all,  and  that  my  name 
would  be  sounded  with  honor  through  the 
whole  civilized  world.  Father !  my  father !  is 
not  that  glorious  ?  Everything  was  beautiful 
in  the  Count's  house ;  such  immense  rooms  I 
never  saw  before.  We  were  soon  seated 
round  a  table  covered  with  the  most  exquisite 
food.  They  drank  a  kind  of  wine  that  banged 
when  they  took  the  corks  out,  as  if  a  pistol 
had  been  shot  off',  close  to  your  ears.  It  foams 
and  foams ;  it  is  quite  sweet,  and  tastes  excel- 
lently." 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  197 

"  Have  you  taken  more  than  one  glass  of  it, 
my  son?  "  said  Burg,  as  he  anxiously  laid  his 
hand  on  the  glowing  brow  of  the  excited  boy. 

"  No,  father,  I  have  not.  The  beautiful 
Countess  ordered  me  to  take  the  seat  next  to 
her  own.  Only  think,  father :  the  chapel-mas- 
ter says  that  was  the  seat  of  honor !  But  the 
Countess  would  not  let  them  refill  my  glass. 
She  said  it  was  possible  I  was  not  accustomed 
to  it ;  that  my  good  mother,  Christina,  would 
not  be  pleased  if  I  should  be  spoiled  by  drink- 
ing too  much  of  it.  But  only  think, — just 
try  to  guess  what  happened  next!  —  No,  that 
is  not  it.  Ah  !  father,  you  would  never,  never 
guess  it!  Only  think  of  it!  they  all  drank 
my  health,  making  their  glasses  rattle  as  they 
did  so ;  and  then  they  all  congratulated  the 
chapel-master  upon  having  found  such  a  pupil 
as  I  am.  They  drank  his  health,  too.  Ah ! 
there  can  be  no  greater  happiness  in  this  life 
than  to  be  an  artist !  And  I  am  certainly  one 
already,  for  they  all  declared  I  was.  When  I 
look  at  the  other  scholars  of  my  own  age  in 
the  institution,  I  cannot  help  pitying  them ;  for 
they  are  really  stupid  in  comparison  with  me, 
17" 


198  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

and  I  do  not  believe  that  they  will  ever  re- 
ceive such  honors  as  have  been  rendered  to 
me  to-night." 

"  And  whom  have  you  to  thank  for  this 
distinction  ?  "  asked  Burg. 

"  Myself  and  you !  "  answered  "Walter, 
rashly.  "  You  sent  me  to  a  most  skilful 
teacher ;  but  he  has  many  pupils  who  have 
been  studying  a  great  deal  longer,  yet  play 
much  worse  than  I  do." 

"  Then  you  have  no  one  but  yourself  to 
thank  for  your  talent  for  art  ?  "  asked  Burg. 

"  Yes,  I  owe  it  to  my  own  industry.  The 
chapel-master  himself  says  so." 

"  Procure  me  still  another  joy,  my  dear 
Walter  !  Write  me  a  finished  poem !  " 

"  But,  father,  how  can  I  do  it  ?  "  said  Wal- 
ter, quite  astonished. 

"  I  will  give  you  plenty  of  time  to  do  it," 
said  Burg.  "  I  will  take  you  to-morrow  to  a 
most  skilful  master  in  the  art  of  poetry ;  to 
please  me,  you  will  again  be  very  studious 
and  industrious,  and  thus  you  will  be  a  great 
poet ! " 

"  My  dear  father,  I  an  sorry  for  it,  but  I 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  199 

think  it  would  be  impossible  !  "  answered 
Walter.  "  You  know  that  at  school  I  never 
wrote  with  any  ease ;  indeed,  I  always  found 
it  very  difficult,  for  I  have  no  talent  at  all  for 
it!" 

"  But  through  your  own  industry  you  will 
certainly  learn  to  compose  as  well  in  words  as 
you  have  done  in  tones." 

"  O  that  is  entirely  different ! "  said  the  boy, 
quickly.  "  I  have  a  great  deal  of  talent  for 
music,  and  none  at  all  for  poetry." 

"  Ah,  indeed!"  answered  the  father,  earnest- 
ly. "  I  thought,  because  you  had  attributed 
all  the  honor  of  the  day  to  yourself  .alone,  that 
you  would  be  able  to  make  as  rapid  progress 
in  any  other  art.  But  if  that  is  not  the  case, 
it  seems  to  me  that  you  cannot  claim  all  the 
honor  for  yourself  alone,  for  you  have  just 
admitted  that  success  in  any  art  requires,  in 
the  first  place,  talent.  Now  how  have  you 
been  able  to  create  this  internal  talent,  which 
you  confess  to  be  the  first  requisite  ?  " 

Walter  blushed  crimson ;  he  looked  con- 
fusedly «pon  the  floor;  then  he  murmured: 
"  No  man  on  earth  can  create  that,  —  that  is 
a  gift  of  the  good  God !  " 


200 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 


"  Then,"  said  Burg,  very  seriously,  "  with- 
out any  merit,  any  assistance,  on  your  part, 
out  of  pure  love,  God  has  endowed  you  with 
the  beautiful  and  glorious  gift  of  a  genius  for 
music.  You  are  only  fulfilling  a  duty,  when 
you  cultivate  to  the  utmost  of  your  power 
the  high  talent  which  you  have  received  from 
God.  Would  you  not  be  guilty  of  the  black- 
est ingratitude  if  you  would  suffer  the  capa- 
bilities with  which  he  has  gifted  you  to 
remain  uncultured  in  your  soul  ?  And  yet 
you  think  that  you  have  done  something 
very  extraordinary,  and  that  the  honor  and 
praise  which  thoughtless  men  have  so  freely 
lavished  upon  you  belong  pf  right  to  you 
alone;  whereas  all  the  distinction  which  has 
been  offered  to  you  is  justly  and  solely  due  to 
God.  Because  you  have  done  in  music  only 
what  it  was  your  duty  to  do,  would  you  wish 
to  claim  merit  for  a  thing  so  simple,  and 
would  you,  in  the  excess  of  an  idle  vanity, 
forget  your  Maker,  from  whose  bountiful 
hand  you  have  received  all  ? 

"  The  sweet  and  foaming  wine  which  you 
drank  to-night  is  called  Champagne.  Its  taste 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  201 

is  very  pleasant,  yet  it  Li  sometimes  a  poison. 
One  or  two  glasses,  however,  is  not  injurious. 
But  it  is  often  forgotten  that  a  bad  spirit  lies 
concealed  in  the  pearly  drops  which  foam  and 
dance  upon  its  surface.  He  who  drinks  too 
much  of  it  loses  his  force  and  his  senses,  and 
in  his  drunkenness  resembles  the  madman 
who  forgets  his  God.  Such  excess  often 
leads  to  the  commission  of  great  crimes. 
The  applauses  of  the  crowd,  the  reverence 
paid  to  genius,  the  sweet  flattery  always  of- 
fered to  the  artist  in  the  most  intoxicating 
manner,  resemble  champagne.  The  bad  spir- 
it which  is  concealed  in  the  froth  of  popular 
applause,  to  ruin  and  destroy  the  artist,  is 
Vanity.  Woe  to  him  if  he  does  more  than 
simply  taste  the  sweet  draught!  If  he  eagerly 
gulps  it  down,  he  draws  in  Vanity  at  the  same 
time,  which  must  lead  him  to  certain  destruc- 
tion; for  it  entices  him  away  from  God,  to 
whom  alone  all  the  fame,  all  the  honor,  which 
men  so  lavishly  expend  upon  the  artist  is 
justly  due.  Vanity  is  constantly  hovering 
over  the  robe  of  light  in  which  all  Art  is 
clothed  ;  she  skilfully  throws  her  own  spotted 

a 


202  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

veil  over  the  glittering  raiment,  drawing  Art 
gradually  down  to  the  service  of  hell.  True, 
divine  Art,  however,  soon  discovers  the  toils 
of  vanity,  and,  throwing  them  off  for  ever, 
passes  on  to  that  heaven  from  which  she 
springs.  A  demon  of  darkness  unfortunately 
too  often  borrows  her  form  of  light,  and  as- 
sists the  work  of  Vanity  in  the  soul  of  the 
artist,  which  she  has  subjected  to  her  power. 
All  that  he  creates  gives  evidence  of  the  de- 
moniac source  from  which  his  works  spring, 
and  that  love  and  faith  no  longer  make  their 
home  in  his  spirit.  He  grows  gradually 
dizzy ;  he  falls  from  sin  to  sin,  and  dies  in 
wretchedness.  An  early  grave,  and  the  speedy 
forgetfulness  of  the  masses  who  once  caressed 
and  flattered  him,  is  sure  to  be  the  fate  of  the 
unhappy  artist  who,  in  the  indulgence  of  his 
own  vanity,  forgets  his  God.  My  dear  son, 
pray  that  you  may  be  protected  from  de- 
moniac pride,  from  artistic  vanity  ! " 

Walter,  who  had  listened  to  his  father  with 
ever  increasing  emotion,  while  his  handsome 
face  grew  pale  with  varying  feelings,  now 
threw  himself  weeping  into  his  arms,  whil 


'^WBf 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  203 

he  cried :  "  Father,  forgive  me  !  I  also  have 
been  both  proud  and  vain.  O,  aid  me  to 
contend  with  these  wicked  spirits !  Suffer 
me  not  to  be  conquered  by  them ! " 

"  Pray !  pray  constantly,  my  son  !  In  the 
midst  of  the  intoxicating  flatteries  which  will 
be  offered  to  you,  never  forget  that  it  is  God 
alone  who  has  gifted  you  with  a  genius  for 
art;  that  you  are  nothing  more  than  a  miser- 
able worm  in  his  hands,  and  that  it  behooves 
you  to  bow  low  before  his  power,  and  give  to 
him  alone  all  honor !  Never  forget  that  it 
is  your  duty  to  cultivate  the  talents  he  has 
condescended  to  give  you  to  the  utmost  ex- 
tent, that  you  must  one  day  give  an  account 
of  the  use  you  have  made  of  them  ;  and  when 
they  try  to  make  you  believe  that  you  have 
reached  the  highest  possible  point,  remember 
that  it  is  impossible  to  stand  still ;  that  you 
must  go  on,  or  fall  backward,  and  that  only 
in  the  most  constant  and  unremitted  efforts 
to  progress  can  your  duty  be  fulfilled !  Go 
now  to  bed,  to  sleep,  my  dear,  dear  son ! 
May  God  be  ever  with  you ! " 


204  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

The  preceding  conversation,  held  by  Wal- 
ter with  Burg  after  the  intoxication  of  his 
first  exciting  and  brilliant  success,  made 
a  deep  impression  upon  his  young  soul, 
and  exercised  a  decisive  influence  upon  the 
whole  course  of  his  life.  The  growth  of 
vanity  was  for  ever  stifled  in  its  first  germ. 
He  struggled  restlessly  forward  upon  the 
path  of  Art,  but  he  gave  at  the  same  time 
the  rare  example  of  a  young,  handsome, 
and  brilliant  artist,  in  the  possession  of  true 
modesty.  He  soon  grew  accustomed  to  the 
applauses  of  the  masses ;  they  reached  his 
ear,  but  the  poisoned  arrows  pressed  not  into 
his  soul. 

When  Walter  had  attained  his  seventeenth 
year,  his  master,  whom  he  had  long  since  sur 
passed,  wished  that  he  should  make  his  name 
known  through  the  civilized  world,  by  exten- 
sive travels  as  an  artist.  Burg  determined  to 
accompany  his  beloved  son,  upon  his  first 
entrance  into  the  great  world.  The  parting 
from  Christina  was  very  painful;  her  tears 
flowed  long  and  fast ;  she  believed  she  would 
never  see  her  darling  again.  Only  reiterated 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  205 

promises  to  write  to  her  constantly,  could  in 
any  degree  calm  her  distressed  heart. 

The  young  artist  had  already  earned  fame 
and  gold  in  many  of  the  larger  towns,  and 
had  made  the  name  of  Walter  Burg  widely 
and  honorably  known,  when  he  came  into  the 
neighborhood  of  the  scenes  of  his  sad  and 
deserted  childhood.  Certainly  no  one  there 
would  recognize  the  poor  foundling  in  the 
brilliant  artist,  and  he  felt  the  most  vivid  wish 
to  give  a  concert  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
the  tailor  musician  Bopp,  and  to  see  him  and 
Maggie  again.  Burg  willingly  acceded  to  his 
natural  request,  and  the  news  soon  pervaded 
Geremberg,  that  the  celebrated  young  artist, 
Burg,  on  his  journey  to  Hamburg,  would  give 
a  concert  in  the  town-hall. 

The  musicians  of  the  town  tuned  their  in- 
struments, and  looked  at  the  music  placed  be- 
fore them  on  their  desks.  No  rehearsal  had 
been  given,  because  Walter  Burg  had  only 
arrived  the  very  evening  upon  which  the  con- 
cert was  to  take  place.  The  town  musicians 
determined  to  play  as  well  as  they  could,  and 
if  the  notes  came  too  thick  and  fast,  young 

18 


206 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 


Burg  might  himself  provide  for  getting  on  as 
well  as  possible  without  them.  No  person 
divined  that  the  celebrated  artist  whom  they 
were  momentarily  expecting,  and  little  Wal- 
ter, whose  early  efforts  they  had  often  ad- 
mired, were  one  and  the  same  person. 

Father  Bopp  sat  bent  almost  double,  and 
*held  his  instrument  loosely  in  his  hand ;  he 
had  grown  much  thinner,  and  looked  very 
sad ;  for  with  increasing  age  and  poverty  his 
termagant  wife  burdened  him  every  day  more 
deeply. 

The  hall  was  soon  full ;  many  people  were 
even  standing  in  the  open  door,  who  had  no 
money  to  take  seats  within,  among  whom 
was  Maggie.  Walter  entered,  and  the  con- 
cert began.  The  good  people  of  Geremberg, 
even  the  mayor  himself  not  excepted,  had 
never  heard  such  music  before.  The  enchant- 
ment and  delight  was  universally  felt ;  yet  we 
must  confess  that  no  slight  degree  of  the  en- 
thusiasm manifested  was  to  be  attributed  as 
much  to  the  exceeding  beauty  of  the  young 
artist,  as  to  his  complete  mastery  of  art. 

Walter  played  a  long  time  alone  ;  the  mu- 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  207 

sicians  had  all  quietly  put  down  their  own 
instruments,  and  listened  attentively  to  him. 
Father  Bopp  wept  in  the  excess  of  his  mu- 
sical excitement. 

The  concert  at  last  ended.  The  mayor  has-  ' 
tened  to  congratulate  the  young  man,  to  tell 
him  of  his  astonishment  and  delight,  to  ask 
him  to  stay  as  long  in  Geremberg  as  he  pos-- 
sibly  could,  and  also  to  try  to  learn  something 
of  his  life  and  connections,  for  it  is  always  es- 
teemed very  interesting  to  know  everything 
about  the  destiny  of  a  young  artist.  To  his 
great  astonishment,  he  found  the  young  man 
standing  beside  Father  Bopp,  and  putting 
into  his  shabby  hat  the  whole  sum  taken  in 
at  the  doors,  to  which  he  added  a  small  roll 
of  gold. 

"  That  is  too  much,  sir !  "  said  Bopp  ;  "  the 
expenses  for  the  whole  of  us  together  do 
not  amount  to  as  much  as  that ;  besides,  the 
truth  is,  we  have  scarcely  played  at  all." 

"  But  that  is  all  for  yourself,  alone,"  an- 
swered the  young  man.  "  Father  Bopp  !  can 
it  be  possible  that  you  do  not  recognize  me  ? 
Yet  you  yourself  gave  me  my  first  lessons 


208  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

upon  the  violin !  Open  your  eyes  a  little 
wider,  and  look  at  me  full  in  the  face.  I  am 
your  own  little  Walter !  " 

Father  Bopp  continued  to  gaze  at  him,  with- 
out being  able  to  articulate  a  single  word ; 
his  mouth  was  wide  open,  his  hat  fell  from 
his  limber  hands,  while  his  trembling  arms, 

/  o  ' 

deprived  of  all  power  to  move,  anxiously 
sought  to  stretch  themselves  towards  the  no- 
ble form  of  the  young  artist. 

"  Indeed,  it  is  true  !  I  am  really  Walter !  " 
cried  Burg,  as  he  threw  his  arms  round  the 
astonished  tailor.  "  Dear,  good,  kind  old 
Father  Bopp!  I  remember  all  the  pieces 
which  we  used  to  play  together,  and  have  be- 
come what  you  always  said  I  would  be,  —  an 
artist !  " 

The  bewildered  astonishment  of  the  old 
man  gave  place  to  the  strangest  manifesta- 
tions of  the  wildest  joy.  He  danced  about, 
he  stood  on  one  leg,  he  laughed,  he  cried,  he 
threw  his  arms  round  Walter,  then  bounded 
off  to  gaze  in  his  face,  and  again  returned  to 
embrace  him.  Burg  was  standing  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  witnessed  the  comic  man- 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  209 

ifestations  of  the  excited  tailor's  joy  with 
heartfelt  sympathy. 

The  news  that  the  accomplished  young  art- 
ist was  no  other  than  the  poor  little  found- 
ling, who  had  lived  so  many  years  among 
them,  ran  through  the  hall  like  lightning ;  it 
soon  reached  the  outer  steps,  and  the  throng 
who  were  making  their  way  down  them. 
They  all  turned  back ;  they  crowded  round 
Walter;  they  renewed  their  acquaintance  with 
him,  and  declared  they  had  always  known  he 
would  make  an  extraordinary  man. 

At  last  Walter  was  free  from  their  noisy 
demonstrations.  He  hastened  into  his  own 
room,  where  he  found  Burg  and  Father  Bopp 
with  Maggie,  whom  Walter  really  longed  to 
see.  She  was  quite  grown  up,  looked  fresh 
and  healthy,  and  was  delighted  to  meet  her 
early  and  loved  playmate  once  more. 

While  the  two  old  men  talked  together,  the 
confidence  of  their  childish  years  was  soon 
re-established  between  the  young  people. 
Walter  gently  asked  Maggie  how  all  went  on 
now  at  home ;  to  which  she  answered,  sigh- 
ing, "  Just  as  it  used  to  do  in  old  times." 

18* 


210  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

Conrad  was  no  student,  but  had  become  a 
lazy,  useless,  worthless  fellow,  who  gave  them 
all  a  great  deal  of  trouble ;  but  he  was  still 
the  mother's  favorite.  Poverty  had  very  much 
increased  upon  them ;  with  all  her  labor,  she 
could  scarcely  earn  enough  to  support  herself; 
if  she  could  only  gain  a  little  spare  money  to 
pay  the  necessary  expenses,  she  would  like  to 
be  married  to  their  neighbor  Peter,  whom 
Walter  must  remember.  Walter  consoled  her 
with  the  hope  that  he  would  be  able  to  send 
her  sufficient  money  to  carry  out  her  matri- 
monial views,  as  soon  as  he  had  earned  some 
more.  He  was  able  afterwards  to  do  so  ;  he 
established  Maggie  and  Peter  in  a  comforta- 
ble house,  and  always  supported  old  Father 
Bopp.  When  Bopp  and  Maggie  used  to 
speak  of  the  famous  artist,  and  recounted  all 
the  benefits  he  had  showered  upon  them,  then 
would  Mother  Bopp  cry :  "  You  and  he  have 
only  me  to  thank  for  all  these  great  things ; 
for  if  I  had  never  driven  ths  boy  out  of  the 
house,  he  never  could  have  become  what  he 
now  is.  So  you  have  all  a  great  deal  to  be 
grateful  to  me  about !  " 


MAGGIE    AND    PETER. 
The   first  dawn  in  p  of  Love 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  211 

After  Burg  had  received  from  the  mayor 
the  clothes  which  "Walter  had  on  when  he 
was  first  taken  from  the  basket,  as  well  as  the 
clasped  locket  which  had  been  carefully  pre- 
served by  the  squire,  he  and  Walter  sat  out 
on  their  way  to  Hamburg.  But  the  interest- 
ing events  which  occurred  there  will  be  best 
learned  from  a  letter  which  the  clock-maker 
wrote  to  his  affectionate  sister  Christina. 

THE  CLOCK-MAKER  BURG  TO  HIS  SISTER 
CHRISTINA. 

Hamburg. 
MY  DEAR  CHRISTINA:  — 

You  write  to  me  that  you  have  awaited 
the  arrival  of  each  of  our  letters  with  anxiety 
and  impatience,  but  that  after  their  reception 
you  have  always  been  happy  and  joyous.  I 
fully  believe  you,  my  true-hearted  sister ;  for 
all  the  details  I  have  given  you  of  the  devel- 
opment of  Walter's  character  have  shown  him 
to  be  kind  and  good.  His  own  letters  have 
expressed  to  you  the  childlike  love  which  he 
feels  for  you,  and  he  has  written  to  yon  in 
what  manner  he  has  been  everywhere  re- 


212 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 


ceived,  what  applause  has  been  showered  up- 
on him;  and  yet  you  must  have  seen,  from  the 
simple  language  of  his  trusting  heart,  that  he 
has  not  fallen  a  prey  to  vanity,  but  that  he  is 
still  the  modest  and  unspoiled  youth  he  was 
when  he  parted  from  you.  He  has  only  a 
proper  sense  of  his  own  worth  ;  he  loves  his 
art,  and  practises  it  because  he  loves  it ;  but 
his  great  talents  have  not  made  him  haughty, 
presumptuous,  or  vain ;  he  does  not  worship 
himself  because  he  possesses  marvellous  fac- 
ulties, the  free  gifts  of  his  gracious  Creator. 
Yes,  my  dear  Christina !  I  can  truly  say,  with 
a  joyful  heart,  that  the  general  and  enthusi- 
astic wonder  and  admiration  of  applauding 
throngs  have  not  puffed  up  our  Walter  in  a 
vain  conceit  of  himself,  but  that  he  gives  to 
God  alone  the  glory ! 

The  letters  of  recommendation  and  intro- 
duction, which  were  given  to  us  by  the  Count, 
Countess,  and  the  chapel-master,  have  procured 
for  us  everywhere  a  good  reception.  Espe- 
cially do  we  find  this  to  be  the  case  here  in 
Hamburg.  But  I  have  already  written  about 
this  to  you,  for  I  now  remember  that  I  asked 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  213 

you,  in  my  last  letter,  to  present  our  grateful 
thanks  to  the  Count,  particularly  for  his  intro- 
duction to  the  Russian  Minister,  Count  Ar- 
noldi.  He  is  a  most  accomplished  person,  and 
we  have  been  received  in  his  house  as  if  we 
had  been  his  own  relatives.  Walter  feels  him- 
self strangely  attracted  to  this  lovely  family. 
The  minister  is  an  excellent  man,  and  knows 
perfectly  how  to  make  the  best  use  of  his  great 
wealth.  Weighty  matters  of  necessary  busi- 
ness keep  him  closely  chained  to  his  writing- 
desk  during  the  greater  part  of  the  day;  but  at 
his  late  dinner,  and  during  the  evening  hours, 
he  is  an  intellectual  and  cheerful  host.  His 
wife  was  born  in  Livonia,  and  is  a  refined, 
cultivated,  and  lovely  lady.  As  a  lover  and 
protector  of  Art,  she  not  only  collects  togeth- 
er in  her  house  the  most  distinguished  artists, 
but  has  also  dedicated  it  to  the  encouragement 
and  preservation  of  their  most  masterly  works. 
The  central  point  of  all  her  love  and  care  is 
her  daughter,  the  beautiful  Sophie,  now  twelve 
years  old.  The  little  girl  has  a  remarkable 
talent  for  music,  and  much  pains  has  already 
been  taken  with  its  cultivation.  Our  Walter, 


214  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

still  an  innocent  child  in  his  pure  soul,  soon 
won  the  sympathy  of  the  beautiful  girl,  and 
they  are  truly  attached  to  each  other.  When 
she  plays  upon  the  piano,  he  often  accompa- 
nies her  upon  the  violin ;  and,  in  spite  of  the 
little  time  which  he  has  at  his  own  command 
after  the  fulfilment  of  his  various  duties,  he 
has  already  composed  several  pieces  for  his 
little  friend.  Her  parents  are  so  attracted  by 
the  elegant  manners  and  unblemished  charac- 
ter of  our  dear  son,  so  much  won  by  his  mar- 
vellous genius  and  his  youthful  beauty,  that 
they  willingly  encourage  the  friendship  of  the 
two  innocent  children  for  each  other. 

We  visit  every  day  the  house  of  the  Russian 
Minister,  and  the  ties  between  the  old  and  the 
young  become  hourly  stronger.  The  son  and 
heir  of  the  house  —  about  the  same  age  with 
our  son,  and  also  called  "  Walter"  —  makes  a 
remarkable  exception  to  the  friendship  and 
love  which  his  parents  and  his  sister  have 
evinced  to  Walter.  Indeed,  he  seems  actu- 
ally to  hate  him ;  and  as  his  manners  are  ex- 
ceedingly rough  and  rude,  he  has  made  him 
feel  his  dislike  in  the  most  wounding  manner, 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  215 

upon  more  than  one  occasion.  His  step- 
mother (for  he  is  a  son  of  the  first  marriage  of 
the  Minister)  made  the  remark,  one  day,  that 
Walter,  our  son,  and  their  daughter  Sophie, 
resembled  each  other  very  much.  The  young 
man  laughed,  and  maliciously  remarked : 
"  The  love  which  my  mother  cherishes  for 
music  could  alone  induce  her  to  see  such  a 
likeness ;  for  how  is  it  possible  that  the  only 
daughter  of  the  rich  Minister  should  resemble 
a  travelling  artist,  who  is  only  the  son  of  a 
common  clock-maker  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  answered  the  lady,  quickly. 
"  Beauty  and  refinement  resemble  each  other, 
in  whomsoever  they  may  be  found,  as  well  as 
coarseness  and  vulgarity ;  therefore,  I  would 
not  be  at  all  astonished  if  some  one  should 
remark  a  strong  resemblance  between  the  only 
son  of  the  Minister  and  the  boy  of  one  of  his 
peasants ! " 

The  young  man  blushed  crimson;  and, look- 
ing most  maliciously  at  his  step-mother  and 
Walter,  left  the  apartment,  with  a  threatening 
gesture  at  our  darling,  who  had  heard  nothing 
of  all  this,  as  he  was  talking  quite  unconcern- 


216  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

edly  with  Sophie  in  the  deep  embrasure  of  one 
of  the  large  windows. 

The  lady  of  the  house  made  the  most  grace- 
ful apologies  to  me  about  what  had  just  oc- 
curred, and,  with  tears  in  her  large  eyes,  said : 
"  The  invincible  roughness  and  vulgar  pride 
of  this  unendurable  boy  embitter  my  whole 
life,  and  are  preparing  a  coffin  for  the  noble 
form  of  my  excellent  husband.  They  seem  to 
be  an  ineradicable  consequence  of  his  early 
education.  How  happy  are  you  in  the  pos- 
session of  such  a  son !  Let  us  be  candid : 
we  envy  you  the  possession  of  such  a  treas- 
ure!" 

You  will  probably  think,  my  dear  sister,  that 
it  would  be  far  better  for  me  to  relate  all  this 
to  you,  if  I  were  quietly  seated  by  your  side, 
in  our  own  sweet  home ;  and  that  it  would  be 
far  more  agreeable  if  I  were  to  write  to  you 
only  of  our  own  dear  Walter,  and  of  his  bril- 
liant musical  triumphs,  than  of  the  malicious 
and  unpolished  son  of  the  Minister.  You 
would  be  right  in  this  decision,  and  I  would 
not  have  written  all  this  to  you,  if  I  did  not 
think  it  was  all  necessary  as  an  introduction 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  217 

to  the  weighty  events  which  I  am  forced  to 
impart  to  you.  Yes,  my  dear,  my  true-hearted 
sister!  your  tender  heart  will  be  filled  with 
joy,  and  yet  your  soft  blue  eyes  may  shed 
many  tears.  Hear,  then,  my  pure-hearted  one, 
all  that  has  occurred.  May  God  himself  stand 
by  you  with  his  precious  grace,  and  enable 
you  to  bear  the  heavy  hours  in  which  all  self- 
ishness, even  of  the  highest  and  noblest  kind, 
must  be  subjected  to  a  fearful  proof!  May 
your  self-sacrificing  love  for  "Walter  enable 
you  to  endure  all ! 

I  had  appointed  the  next  day  for  our  de- 
parture. Walter  did  not  object  to  it,  al- 
though he  confessed  to  me  that  the  separa- 
tion from  the  Arnoldi  family  would  be  very 
painful  to  him,  because  he  loved  them — 
he  knew  not  why — from  the  very  bottom  of 
his  heart.  I  pointed  him  to  the  brilliancy  of 
his  prospects  in  the  future.  He  acknowledged 
that  his  career  was  full  of  hope;  yet  but 
slightly  consoled  he  accompanied  me,  towards 
evening,  to  the  house  of  the  Minister,  who  had 
invited  all  the  friends  of  the  young  artist  to- 
gether, to  spend  the  last  evening  with  him  at 

19 


218  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

a  parting  festival  in  his  own  house.  I  hoped 
that  the  younger  Arnoldi,  who  greatly  pre- 
fers card-playing  to  the  most  excellent  music, 
would  be,  as  usual,  not  at  home.  But  it  was 
not  so.  He  was  there  upon  our  arrival,  and 
seemed  to  me  to  be  in  a  worse  humor  than 
ever  with  our  innocent  son.  He  took  his  place 
in  the  deep  recess  of  one  of  the  windows,  and 
I  soon  remarked  that,  from  behind  the  half- 
veiling  curtain,  he  watched  every  movement 
made  by  Walter  with  a  malicious  and  suspi- 
cious air.  We  were  received  with  the  great- 
est cordiality  and  affection  by  all  the  invited 
guests,  and  the  different  members  of  the  fam- 
ily of  the  Minister.  When  the  Minister  him- 
self asked  his  daughter  to  open  the  piano,  and 
play  for  the  last  time  with  the  young  artist, 
tears  rushed  to  the  bright  eyes  and  rolled 
down  the  rosy  cheeks  of  the  beautiful  child. 
At  the  very  moment  that  Walter  and  she 
commenced  their  duet,  a  violent  and  stormy 
verbal  discussion  began  at  the  door  of  the 
music-room.  The  loud  and  shrill  tones  of  a 
woman's  voice  were  heard  far  above  the  in- 
struments, fiercely  demanding  entrance.  After 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  219 

a  moment's  delay,  the  door  was  thrown  open ; 
and,  in  spite  of  the  servants,  who  were  strug- 
gling to  hold  her  back,  a  tall  and  powerful 
woman  forced  herself  into  the  parlor.  The 
Minister  moved  forward  to  meet  her,  and  said 
sternly :  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  strange 
insolence  ?  If  you  have  really  urgent  business 
with  me, — if  it  is  necessary  that  you  should 
yourself  have  an  interview  with  me,  —  come  to 
me  early  to-morrow  morning,  at  a  more  suita- 
ble time.  If  your  business,  however,  is  very 
pressing,  you  may  follow  me  now  into  another 
apartment." 

The  woman  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  looked  half-confused  round  the 
room ;  but,  rapidly  regaining  her  self-posses- 
sion, she  said,  defiantly :  "  They  will  no  more 
admit  me  to  your  presence  to-morrow  than 
they  did  yesterday  and  the  day  before !  The 
command  of  the  young  lord,  as  the  people 
call  him,  that  your  servants  should  set  the 
dogs  upon  me  to  drive  me  away, —  should 
beat  me  from  your  door,  —  has  made  me  rag- 
ing mad.  He  need  n't  think  that  I  am  so 
much  afraid  of  their  blows!  He  had  better 


220  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

not  threaten  me  too  far!  Now  I  am  deter- 
mined to  speak  out  the  whole  truth !  Have 
you  quite  forgotten  me,  Minister  Arnoldi? 
I  am  Martha  Meyer.  I  am  the  daughter  of 
the  Meyer  to  whose  care  you  intrusted  your 
son,  nearly  eighteen  years  ago." 

"  Very  well !  very  well,  my  good  woman  !  " 
said  the  Minister,  considerably  mollified  ;  "  it 
is  very  natural  and  very  kind  in  you  to  come 
sometimes  to  visit  your  old  charge.  To-mor- 
row morning  I  will  be  disengaged,  and  I  will 
then  see  what  I  can  do  to  help  you.  Go 
down  now  into  the  servant's  hall.  I  will 
give  orders  that  you  shall  be  well  taken  care 
of.  Walter,  lead  the  foster-sister  of  your 
childhood  out,  and  see  that  she  is  supplied 
with  all  she  needs  !  " 

The  young  man  looked  very  much  agi- 
tated, and,  as  he  stepped  from  behind  his 
sheltering  curtain,  he  seized  the  woman  by 
the  arm,  and  was  about  to  hurry  her  out 
But  she  loosened  her  arm  from  his  rough 
grasp,  and  screamed  out  with  her  whole  force : 
"  This  is  not  your  own  son,  Minister  Ar- 
noldi, but  my  brother,  Peter  Meyer,  who 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  221 

has  been  thrust  upon  you !  He  knows  it 
himself  well  enough,  but  he  has  no>  compas- 
sion upon  us  at  all ;  he  leaves  us  in  want 
and  poverty,  and  when  I  came  just  now  to 
beg  him  for  assistance,  he  pretended  not  to 
recognize  me,  threatened  to  complain  of  me 
to  the  police,  and  have  me  driven  from  the 
city.  He  ordered  the  servants  to  set  the 
dogs  upon  me,  and  to  lash  me  out  of  the 
house  if  I  ever  suffered  myself  to  be  seen 
here  again!" 

"  Cursed  liar !  "  cried  the  young  man,  who 
had  in  vain  tried  to  hold  his  hands  before  the 
mouth  of  the  angry  woman,  and  thus  arrest 
the  stormy  flow  of  her  injurious  words. 

She  succeeded,  however,  in  holding  him  at 
arm's  length  from  her  person,  while  she  con- 
tinued to  shriek :  "  So,  so ;  I  am  a  liar,  am  I  ? 
Now  that  you  have  openly  defied  me,  I  will 
tell  the  whole  story.  Minister  Arnoldi,  my 
own  blessed  mother,  may  God  forgive  her ! 
imposed  this  beggar  upon  you  as  vour  child ! 
He  is,  however,  her  own  son !  Your  boy 
Walter  she  exposed  at  night  to  be  taken 
care  of  as  a  foundling !  I  can  bring  certain 

19  * 


222  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

proof  of  all  I  assert !  —  Set  the  dogs  upon 
me,  indeed !  My  own  brother,  too ! " 

These  words  fell  like  a  stroke  of  thunder 
upon  all  who  were  present.  The  astonished 
guests  gathered  together  in  the  background; 
Madame  Arnoldi  clasped  her  daughter  anx- 
iously in  her  arms,  as  if  she  feared  some  one 
would  tear  her  away  from  her ;  and  the  Min- 
ister exclaimed,  in  a  tone  stifled  by  emotion : 
"  Proofs  !  proofs  !  I  must  have  full  and  cer- 
tain proofs  of  this  horrible  story." 

My  dear,  dearest  sister !  I  know  your  ten- 
der heart  is  beating  fast ;  that  your  eyes  are 
too  full  of  tears  to  see  clearly,  and  that, 
trembling  with  fear  and  excitement,  you  are 
striving  to  read  on!  I,  too,  suffered  intensely. 
I  grasped  my  Walter's  hand  as  if  I  was  de- 
termined never  to  give  him  up.  Alas!  My 
throbbing  heart  rapidly  divined  the  truth,  but 
it  was  no  time  for  me  to  speak,  for  the  angry 
woman  rapidly  proceeded  in  her  strange  nar- 
ration. 

"  My  mother,  seduced  by  your  wealth,  de- 
termined that  her  darling  little  Peter  should 
be  your  heir.  In  order  to  carry  out  this 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  223 

scheme,  she  commanded  me  one  day,  shortly 
after  the  death  of  my  father,  to  get  little 
Walter  ready,  for  that  she  intended  to  take 
him  to  another  town  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance, and  place  him  with  her  aunt  as  her 
own  Peter,  while  she  intended  to  make  the 
real  Peter  pass  as  your  Walter.  She  con- 
cluded, however,  afterwards  to  alter  her  plan. 
She  made  me  write  a  letter,  recommending 
the  child  to  the  compassion  of  all  men.  As  I 
saw  her  sew  this  paper  tight  upon  the  dress 
of  the  little  boy,  I  thought  it  more  than  prob- 
able that  she  would  not  take  him  as  far  as 
her  aunt's.  I  pitied  the  beautiful  child  sorely, 
for  I  could  not  help  loving  him ;  but  I  was 
dreadfully  afraid  of  my  mother,  and  I  did  not 
dare  to  refuse  to  do  as  she  told  me.  I  fas- 
tened securely  and  secretly  around  Walter 
the  locket  which  you  had  hung  on  his  neck 
when  you  parted  from  him;  and  when  my 
mother  asked  for  it,  I  told  her  that  Peter  had 
had  it  to  play  with,  and  had  thrown  it  into 
the  well.  Every  word  I  have  spoken  is  true. 
I  can  tell  you  where  your  own  son  is,  — 
for  I  soon  found  out  what  my  mother  had 


224  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

done  with  him,  and  have  always,  without  ex- 
citing any  suspicion,  kept  myself  fully  in- 
formed about  the  fate  of  your  forsaken  boy. 
The  well-known  clock-maker  Burg,  now  re- 
siding in  D ,  has  adopted  him  as  his  own 

son  ! " 

You  must  have  already  divined,  my  poor 
Christina,  that  this  announcement  was  com- 
ing :  imagine  what  an  impression  these  words 
must  have  made  on  all  the  by-standers  ! 
"  Burg !  Walter  Burg ! "  was  echoed  and  re- 
echoed from  every  quarter  of  the  room. 

"  Walter  Burg  is  here  !  "  cried  Madame 
Arnoldi,  suddenly,  as  she  seized  the  cold  hand 
of  our  almost  benumbed  darling.  "  Father, 
here,  —  here  is  indeed  your  son  !  " 

"  If  he  is,"  cried  the  woman,  "  he  must 
produce  the  locket." 

Walter  trembled  from  head  to  foot  as  he 
produced  that  dear  possession,  which  you 
know  he  has  worn  upon  his  heart  ever  since 
he  left  Geremberg. 

Arnoldi  recognized  it  instantly ! 

"  It  is  a  false  imitation,  only  made  to  ruin 
me ! "  said  the  unhappy  young  man,  whom 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 


225 


the  events  of  the  last  five  minutes  had  trans- 
formed to  a  beggar. 

The  Minister  touched  the  spring,  which  was 
only  known  to  himself,  the  locket  sprang  open, 
and  suffered  the  picture  of  a  beautiful  woman 
to  be  seen.  It  was  Walter's  mother!  Doubt 
was  no  longer  possible. 

"  My  son  !  rny  forsaken  son  !  "  cried  the 
Minister. 

"  Our  son !  our  artist  son  !"  said  his  wife. 

"  My  brother  !  my  own  dear  brother  !  " 
exclaimed  Sophie. 

Six  loving  arms  embraced  the  bewildered, 
happy,  rich,  and  noble  Walter ! 

And  I?  Ah,  Christina!  my  dear  sister! 
I  drew  back  into  a  quiet  corner,  buried  my 
face  in  my  hands,  while  the  hot  tears  coursed 
their  rapid  way  down  my  cheeks,  and  tried  to 
reprove  rny  weak,  selfish,  foolish  heart,  which 
whispered  ever  to  me:  "Poor,  poor  father! 
you  have  no  longer  a  son  !  For  the  rich  son 
of  the  Minister  you  can  do  nothing  more! 
lie  is  yours  no  longer !  " 

I  must  confess,  my  heart,  that  this  was 
very  selfish !  It  was  human,  indeed,  but  not 


226  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

Christian.  Did  we  bring  up  Walter  so  care- 
fully only  for  ourselves  ?  Have  we  loved  him 
solely  because  he  made  us  happy,  and  not  for 
his  own  sweet  sake  ?  Who  should  rejoice 
over  his  present  good  fortune  more  than  we  ? 
For  although  we  love  him  so  very  dearly,  yet 
nothing  in  this  world  can  possibly  replace  the 
love  of  tender  parents,  the  affection  of  broth- 
ers and  sisters !  Therefore,  Christina,  we  will 
rejoice  with  our  dear  Walter  from  the  very 
depths  of  our  hearts !  We  will  humbly  thank 
the  Merciful  One  that  he  chose  us  to  shelter 
his  early  life,  to  keep  him  pure  from  evil,  and 
to  turn  his  young  and  grateful  soul  to  the 
worship  of  his  God !  This  happiness  we  have 
enjoyed  in  its  purity  ;  it  will  accompany  us  to 
our  latest  hour  ;  its  memory  will  never  cease 
to  refresh  and  console  us. 

My  good,  my  pious,  my  beloved  sister !  1 
call  upon  you  in  this  hour  to  make  with  me 
this  heavy  yet  righteous  sacrifice ;  for  it  is  our 
duty  to  give  back  the  blessed  names,  which 
make  the  heart  happy,  of  father  and  mother, 
into  the  hancls  of  those,  who  claim  them  by 
the  divine  right  of  nature. 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  227 


After  the  first  intense  excitement  had  sub- 
sided, after  Walter,  in  the  arms  of  his  parents 
and  amid  the  tender  caresses  of  his  lovely 
sister,  had  somewhat  regained  his  bewildered 
consciousness,  the  first  thought  of  his  true 
heart  was  for  me  !  He  tore  himself  free  from 
their  clasping  arms ;  he  hastened  to  me,  threw 
himself  upon  my  heart,  and  said,  as  he  wept : 
"  Father  Burg !  O,  say  you  will  still  be  my 
father !  O,  what  would  have  become  of  me 
if  you  had  not  taken  pity  upon  me  ?  Happy, 
happy  man  that  I  am !  I  have  now  two  fa- 
thers and  two  mothers  !  " 

"  Yes,  and  a  sister  that  loves  you  too ! " 
said  little  Sophie. 

Now  you  see,  my  dear  Christina,  that  "Wal- 
ter will  still  remain  our  son  ! 

I  am  very  much  tired,  for  these  scenes  have 
been  full  of  excitement  for  my  heart.  This 
long  letter  has  also  wearied  me,  and  the  fear 
of  distressing  you,  my  dear,  true  sister,  has  so 
exhausted  me,  that  I  do  not  feel  able  to  'write 
to  you  a  description  of  the  never-ending  joy- 
festivals  of  the  family  of  Arnold!.  I  will  re- 
late all  this  better  to  you  by  word  of  mouth, 


228  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

for  I  will  follow  this  letter  almost  immedi- 
ately, and  I  will  bring  you  as  many  guests  as 
your  little  house  can  well  hold,  —  the  Min- 
ister, his  wife,  his  daughter,  and  his  and 
our  son. 

Yes,  my  Christina!  you  shall  soon  again 
clasp  the  happy  Walter  to  your  true  heart ; 
you  shall  soon  learn  to  know  the  dear  ones  to 
whom  he  now  justly  belongs;  you  shall  re- 
ceive the  earnest  thanks  of  his  grateful  father 
for  your  holy  care  of  the  forsaken  orphan  ; 
while  the  beings  with  whom  it  has  been  the 
pleasure  of  God  to  place  us  in  such  relations 
shall  learn  to  esteem  and  honor  your  gentle 
virtues ! 

Will  you  not,  after  a  few  natural  tears,  my 
Christina,  rejoice  with  us  all  in  Walter's  good 
fortune  ? 

I  will  come  the  day  before  the  arrival  of 
our  guests,  so  that  I  soon  hope  to  hold  you 
to  my  heart! 

God  be  ever  with  you,  my  beloved  sister ! 
Your  loving  brother, 

CHRISTIAN  BURG. 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  229 

The  Minister  Arnoldi  lived  in  St.  Peters- 
burg, where  he  had  inherited  a  handsome 
property.  As  his  young  wife  became  quite 
sickly  there,  by  the  advice  of  her  physician  he 
took  her  to  Germany.  But  it  was  only  for  a 
short  time  that  he  was  allowed  to  cherish  a 
hope  of  her  ultimate  recovery  there.  The 
young  wife  was  seized  with  a  most  depress- 
ing attack  of  home-sickness ;  he  was  forced 
to  yield  to  her  wishes,  and,  notwithstanding 
the  advanced  season  of  the  year,  to  com- 
mence with  the  poor  sufferer  their  trying  jour- 
ney home.  When  they  had  arrived  at  one  of 
the  little  towns  in  the  North  of  Germany,  her 
situation  became  so  critical  that  it  was  found 
impossible  to  continue  their  homeward  route, 
and  soon  after  he  wept  beside  the  coffin  of 
his,  young  spouse.  After  she  had  presented 
him  with  a  son,  she  slumbered  softly  on,  un- 
til her  sleep  became  the  long  and  dreamless 
one  of  death.  The  poor  widower,  with  his 
helpless  orphan  in  his  arms,  stood,  without 
counsel  or  friends,  by  the  early  grave  of  his 
wife.  It  was  late  in  the  autumn ;  the  weather 
was  cold  and  stormy ;  how  could  he  venture 
20 


230  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

to  undertake  such  an  unpleasant  journey  with 
his  new-born  and  delicate  infant.  No  choice 
remained  to  him  but  to  adopt  the  means  often 
taken  in  large  cities  for  the  nursing  and  bring- 
ing up  of  little  children  ;  he  trusted  his  great- 
est treasure,  his  only  and  darling  son,  to  the 
wife  of  a  peasant.  She  was  to  be  his  wet- 
nurse,  and  to  assume  the  whole  charge  of  the 
infant.  The  pastor  of  the  parish  promised  to 
keep  an  attentive  eye  upon  the  child,  and  the 
woman  was  to  receive  through  him  a  rich  re- 
ward for  her  trouble.  Before  Arnoldi  parted 
from  his  little  Walter,  he  hung  a  locket  con- 
taining a  picture  of  his  mother  round  his 
neck,  and,  oppressed  with  anxiety  and  pain,  he 
set  out  on  his  lonely  journey  home. 

The  deception  and  cruel  desertion  of  the 
woman  are  already  known  to  the  reader.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  the  sudden  death  of  the 
worthy  pastor,  it  wrould  have  been  impossible 
for  her  to  have  carried  such  a  wicked  scheme 
into  execution.  She  passed  off  Peter  as  Wal- 
ter Arnoldi,  and  told  the  neighbors  that  she 
had  taken  her  own  child  to  her  sister,  because 
the  boys  disliked  each  other,  and  were  con- 
stantly quarrelling. 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  231 

Years  passed  on.  Arnold!  was  constantly 
occupied  in  the  most  important  business,  and, 
as  he  feared  the  effect  of  a  change  of  climate 
upon  the  constitution  of  his  son,  he  thought 
it  best  for  the  boy  to  be  permitted  to  remain 
with  his  nurse,  who  constantly  gave  the  most 
encouraging  accounts  of  his  increasing  strength 
and  of  his  unbroken  good  health.  Besides, 
Arnoldi  had  married  again,  and  was  very  hap- 
py in  his  second  union,  while  the  birth  of  a 
daughter  placed  the  memory  of  the-  son  whom 
he  had  never  known  still  more  in  the  back- 
ground. After  he  had  taken  a  house  and  set- 
tled himself  finally  in  Hamburg,  he  sent  a 
faithful  servant  to  bring  home  his  only  son. 
He  was  almost  frightened  when  the  ugly, 
awkward,  rough,  little  boy  was  presented  to 
him  as  his  child.  He  reproached  himself  bit- 
terly with  having  left  him  so  long  in  such 
rough  hands,  and  sought  through  redoubled 
love  and  attention  to  compensate  for  the  time 
he  had  permitted  him  to  be  with  entire  stran- 
gers. But  all  his  care  and  trouble  availed  but 
little  ;  his  son  assumed,  indeed,  the  outward 
form  of  refined  society,  but  his  mind  coatin- 


232  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

ued  rough  and  unformed.  Lazy  and  idle  for 
all  mental  effort,  he  was  very  cunning  and 
skilful  in  reaching  his  own  low  aims.  His 
sister  had  told  him  on  his  departure  who  he 
really  was,  and  that  it  was  his  duty  to  send 
her  plenty  of  money  as  a  reward  for  keeping 
his  secret.  He  thought  it  proper  to  do  this  at 
first,  but  he  soon  gave  it  up.  Thereupon,  she 
threatened  him  to  disclose  all,  and  he  again 
sent  her  money.  At  last,  she  received  nothing 
but  the  advice  to  trouble  him  no  more.  This 
seemed  to  awaken  Martha's  long  slumbering 

conscience.     Being  once  on  a  visit  at  D , 

she  heard  accidentally  that  the  clock-maker 
Burg  had  adopted  a  child  who  had  been  ex- 
posed and  deserted  at  Geremburg.  She  now 
knew  where  the  little  boy,  whom  she  had  left 
in  possession  of  the  locket,  was  to  be  found. 
She  visited  Hamburg  with"  the  intention  of 
getting  money  from  her  brother,  by  constantly 
threatening  to  betray  his  secret  to  the  Minister. 
She  did  not  know  that  Walter  was  then  in 
Hamburg.  The  harsh  reception  given  her  by 
her  brother  irritated  her  almost  to,  madness,  so 
that  she  betrayed  more  than  she  had  any  in- 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  233 

tention  of  doing.  But  that  beneficent  God, 
from  whom  no  secrets  are  hidden,  had  ar- 
ranged it  in  such  a  manner  that  all  who  were 
concerned  were  to  meet  at  the  proper  time 
and  place. 

The  Minister  was  so  overjoyed  at  the  turn 
things  had  taken,  that  he  never  thought  of 
inflicting  any  punishment.  He  rewarded  Mar- 
tha liberally  for  her  late  confession,  and  prom- 
ised to  Peter  Meyer  (who  devoutly  persisted 
in  saying  that  he  had  not  believed  a  single 
word  of  Martha's  story,  and  that,  until  he  saw 
the  miniature  inclosed  in  the  locket,  he  thought 
that  he  was  truly  Walter  Arnoldi)  a  consider- 
able capital,  which  was  to  be  paid  out  to  him 
as  soon  as  he  should  have  mastered  any  avail- 
able business,  or  was  willing  to  commence 
any  reputable  occupation. 

Peter,  who  now  plainly  saw  that  he  was 
forced  to  relinquish  all  his  hopes  as  heir,  prom- 
ised to  be  more  industrious  ;  and  as  he  evinced 
an  inclination  to  go  to  sea,  he  was  intrusted 
with  a  situation  on  a  trading-vessel  which 
had  once  belonged  to  the  Minister. 

Walter  became,  as  was  to  be  expected,  an 

20" 


234  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

«r 

artist  of  the  highest  fame,  and  many  cele- 
brated performers  were  formed  in  his  school. 
He  preserved  his  childlike  love  and  reverence 
for  his  adopted  parents  to  the  hour  of  their 
death ;  he  passed  a  certain  portion  of  every 
year  in  the  neat  little  house  in  which  he  had 
spent  the  happiest  days  of  his  childhood.  The 
pious  brother  and  sister  gave  their  property  at 
their  death  to  the  poor ;  but  Walter  had  pur- 
chased, during  their  lifetime,  the  house  and 
garden,  with  all  the  clocks  and  pieces  of  ex- 
quisite mechanism,  and  founded  an  institution, 
of  which  it  was  one  of  the  conditions  that  ev- 
erything within  the  beloved  inclosure  of  Chris- 
tina's garden,  everything  within  the  walls  of 
her  quiet  home,  should  remain  for  ever  undis- 
turbed, —  consecrated  to  the  honor  and  sacred 
to  the  memory  of  Christina  and  Christian 
Burg! 


CONCLUSION. 

• 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  MUSIC  AND  THE  GUARDIAN  ANGEL. 

"  Knowledge  by  suffering  entereth ; 
And  life  is  perfected  by  Death  !  " 

AFTER  a  long  life  full  of  honor  and  bless- 
ings, the  great  maestro,  Walter  Arnoldi,  was 
called  from  this  earth  to  the  better  land.  The 
pale  Angel  of  Death,  the  Spirit  of  Music,  and 
his  own  Guardian  Angel,  stood  at  his  bedside. 

The  starry  light  again  glittered  round  and 
through  the  aerial  form  of  the  fair  Spirit  of 
Music;  the  tones  of  her  strange  voice  were 
sad,  but  soothing.  She  held  a  glossy  wreath, 
made  of  the  undying  leaves  of  the  consecrated 
laurel ;  and  as  she  bent  to  twine  it  round  the 
pale  but  calm  brow  of  the  artist,  she  kissed 
again  his  broad  forehead,  and  said:  "Thou 
wert  a  true  priest  in  the  service  to  which  I 


236  THE    YOUNG    ARTIST. 

consecrated  thee.  Lo !  I  have  made  thy  name 
immortal.  My  early  kiss  did  not  lead  thee  to 
destruction,  but  kept  thy  noble  soul  ever  pure 
from  the  stains  which  pollute  the  common 
mass  of  men." 

"  That  was  because    I  led   him  where  he 

• 

could  learn  to  know  the  Light  of  Life, — the 
Son  of  the  Virgin!"  said  the  Guardian  An- 
gel. "  Without  such  knowledge,  he  would 
have  been  ruined ;  for  Vanity  and  Pride,  False- 
hood and  Selfishness,  stand  continually  around 
the  gifted,  to  seduce  them  from  their  duty,  to 
lead  the  undying  soul  into  the  snares  of  hell. 
But  he  humbly  bowed  before  the  greatness  of 
his  Creator,  because  he  had  learned  to  know 
the  Victim  Lamb ;  he  loved  him,  and  believed 
on  his  name,  to  the  last  hour  of  his  life.  He 
did  not  claim  the  glory  of  his  genius  as  a  dis- 
tinction for  himself  alone ;  he  used  it  for  the 
honor  of  his  God!  Therefore  am  I  sent  to 
bear  the  faithful  soul  home  to  the  throne  of 
God,  where,  in  the  tones  of  heaven,  he  shall 
sing  eternal  praises ! " 

"  And  high  and  earnest  song  shall  accom- 
pany him  on  his  upward  way ! "  said  the  Spirit 
of  Music,  fondly. 


THE    YOUNG    ARTIST.  237 

The  hymn  of  praise,  in  the  unearthly  glory 
of  its  heavenly  tones,  broke  from  the  inspired 
lips  of  the  glittering  and  radiant  spirit. 

A  smile  of  strange  rapture  transfigured  the 
face  of  the  noble  artist,  as  the  music  of  heaven 
mingled  with  the  memories  of  his  kindred  la- 
bors upon  earth.  At  that  moment  the  pale 
Angel  of  Death  kissed  his  quivering  lips,  and 
the  three  happy  spirits,  full  of  joy,  bore  the 
redeemed  soul  to  the  throne  of  God  ! 

In  the  morning,  the  scholars  found  their 
beloved  master  dead,  and  his  head  already 
crowned  with  a  glittering  wreath  of  deep- 
green  laurel.  Vain  were  all  their  efforts  to 
ascertain  what  unknown  hand  had  twined  it 
there.  Unfaded  and  unfading,  it  still  lies 
upon  the  quiet  grave  of  the  true  and  faithful 
artist ! 


BENEVOLENCE  AND  GRATITUDE, 


OB 


THE  RUSSIAN  OFFICER. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  reign  of  Frederick  the  Great,  King  of 
Prussia,  was  disturbed  by  a  series  of  bloody 
wars,  and  numerous  were  the  enemies  whom 
his  brave  people  encountered  upon  all  sides. 
These  struggles  were  illustrated  by  many  deeds 
worthy  of  undying  renown,  and  the  number 
of  those  who  proved  their  love  to  their  king 
and  country,  by  the  sacrifice  of  life  itself,  was 
fearful.  Blooming  striplings,  the  sole  hope 
of  their  aged  parents,  stout  men,  the  stay  and 
comfort  of  their  families,  and  noble  leaders, 
whose  worth  and  abilities  were  universally 
acknowledged,  all  fell  in  the  bloody  battles, 
and  apparently  in  vain,  for  peace  seemed  as 
distant  as  ever. 

The  Russians,  under  Count  Fermor,  in- 
vaded East  Prussia,  which  Frederick  could 
21 


242  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

not  defend,  owing  to  its  distance  from  the 
main  body  of  his  states.  This  province 
yielded,  and  the  Count  crossed  Poland  and 
Pomerania  with  his  eighty  thousand  men, 
prepared  to  carry  the  war  into  the  very  heart 
of  the  country.  He  attacked  the  city  of 
Kiistrin,  which  he  reduced  in  a  few  hours  to 
a  heap  of  ashes.  The  citadel  alone  remained 
standing,  and  the  Prussian  commandant  de- 
termined to  perish  with  it,  rather  than  yield. 

Information  was  speedily  brought  that 
Frederick  himself  was  approaching,  and  this 
news  saved  the  fortress ;  for  the  Russians 
quitted  Kiistrin,  and,  marching  northward, 
encamped  at  Zorndorf,  between  the  Wartha 
and  the  Oder.  A  most  bloody  battle  was 
soon  after  fought  in  this  place.  Frederick 
advanced  upon  the  enemy,  who  were  for- 
midable, not  only  from  their  vast  superiority 
in  numbers,  but  also  from  their  incredible 
hardihood. 

The  Prussians  must  be  victorious,  or  their 
very  capital  would  soon  be  in  the  power  of 
the  enemy,  and  then*  whole  country  lie  at  the 
mercy  of  the  Russians.  Frederick  knew  this 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  243 

well,  and  determined  not  only  to  defeat,  but 
to  annihilate,  his  foe.  He  commanded  his 
men  to  give  no  quarter,  and  to  destroy  all 
who  fell  in  their  way. 

The  battle  was  long  and  desperate.  The 
right  wing  of  the  Russian  army  was  finally 
driven  into  a  swamp,  surrounded,  and  hewn 
down  by  the  Prussians,  scarcely  a  man  es- 
caping; while  the  left,  eager  to  avenge  their 
slaughtered  brethren,  made  a  most  furious 
onslaught.  But,  notwithstanding  their  des- 
perate courage,  they  were  driven  back,  and 
obliged  to  quit  the  field. 

The  ammunition  was  all  exhausted  upon 
both  sides,  and  the  fight  was  hand  to  hand, 
with  sword  and  bayonet,  when  the  night 
came  on  and  put  an  end  to  the  bloody  strife. 
The  Prussians  awaited  its  renewal  with  the 
coming  dawn,  for  Count  Fermor  had  drawn 
up  his  men  in  order  beyond  the  swamp ;  but, 
after  lingering  in  the  neighborhood  during  the 
whole  of  the  next  day,  he  finally  withdrew 
with  his  army  towards  Poland,  leaving  twenty 
thousand  dead  upon  the  field  of  battle. 


244  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

A  few  days  after  the  occurrences  just  re- 
lated, a  lively  scene  was  passing  in  a  little 
town  not  far  from  Berlin.  The  streets  were 
crowded  with  people,  especially  the  market- 
place, with  its  tall,  neat  houses,  whose  pol- 
ished window-panes  shone  clearly  in  the 
bright  sunlight.  It  was  Sunday.  Well- 
dressed  dames  and  young  maidens,  with 
their  hyrnn-books  in  their  folded  hands,  and 
their  eyes  cast  modestly  upon  the  ground, 
were  hastening  to  the  open  churches,  while 
their  husbands  and  brothers  gathered  in  groups 
before  the  doors  to  enjoy  a  little  neighborly 
conversation.  The  deeds  of  the  great  king 
were  upon  every  tongue ;  the  last  battle  was 
variously  discussed,  and  many  an  honest 
burgher,  who  had  never  passed  the  limits  of 
his  own  little  town,  thought  himself  quite 
wise  and  experienced  enough  to  play  the 
critic. 

"  Ah,  good  morning  to  you,  brother !  "  cried 
the  stout  grocer  Bolt  to  his  brother-in-law, 
Doctor  Heller,  who  at  this  moment  came 
down  the  street,  accompanied  by  two  other 
citizens  of  the  town.  "  Whither  away  so 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  245 

fast?  Won't  you  step  in  and  breakfast  with 
me?  I  will  give  you  a  glass  of  beer  that 
can't  be  matched.  I  never  drank  better  in 
my  whole  life ;  and  that  is  saying  a  great 
deal,  for  many  and  many 's  the  brewing  that 
I  have  tasted!" 

"  Thank  you,  my  good  friend,"  replied  the 
doctor,  as  he  heartily  shook  his  brother's 
hand ;  "  thank  you,  but  I  must  accompany 
these  gentlemen  immediately,  notwithstand- 
ing your  enticing  offer  of  beer.  But,  my  old 
friend,  you  will  keep  it  until  evening,  when 
I  can  come  in  and  share  it  with  you,  will 
you  not  ?  You  see  I  am  bound  to  the  hos- 
pital. The  last  battle  cost  many  a  poor  fellow 
a  broken  head,  and  several  of  the  wounded 
soldiers  are  to  be  brought  here,  because  the 
nearer  hospitals  are  all  filled  to  overflowing. 
If  I  am  not  mistaken,  we  are  to  have  a 
Russian,  too,  upon  our  hands,  to  be  taken 
care  of." 

"  Thunder   and   lightning ! "    blustered   the 

grocer.     "  A  Russian !     Are  we  to  entertain 

and  nurse  our  worst  enemies?     That  is  too 

bad.     I  would  rather  let  a  whole  regiment  of 

21* 


246  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

Austrians,  Frenchmen,  Saxons,  or  whatever 
names  the  rascals  may  be  called  by,  range 
at  will  through  my  house,  than  harbor  a  sin- 
gle Russian.  They  are  worse  than  savages, 
and  more  cruel  than  the  fiercest  wild  beasts. 
Yes,  indeed,  my  good  brother,  you  had  better 
keep  your  Russian  far  enough  away  from  my 
clutches ! " 

"  Come,  come ! "  said  the  doctor,  soothingly, 
"  I  too  hate  the  Russians  with  all  my  heart, 
but  we  must  feel  as  human  beings,  even  to- 
wards our  enemies  ;  and  the  poor  fellow  they 
will  send  us  here  can  do  us  no  harm.  He 
may  have  lost  a  leg  or  an  arm,  and  even  if 
his  wounds  be  not  severe  — " 

"  What!  the  Devil!"  interrupted  Bolt.  "If 
my  leg  or  my  arm  had  been  shot  off,  that 
would  have  been  the  end  of  me.  But  surely 
these  Russians  are  not  made  of  the  same 
flesh  and  blood  as  we  Germans !  I  will  lay 
you  a  wager  now,  whatever  you  please,  that 
without  either  arms  or  legs  they  would  burn 
the  houses  over  our  heads.  But  look !  How 
lively  the  burgomaster's  granddaughter  is  to- 
day !  Your  servant,  Miss  Ella ! " 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  247 

This  greeting  was  addressed  to  a  little  girl, 
who  had  just  thrust  her  curly  head  through 
the  half-opened  doorway  of  the  opposite 
house. 

"  Good  morning,  neighbor  ! "  replied  the 
child,  friendlily,  as  she  skipped  up  and  down 
the  steps  to  tease  her  playmate,  a  large  brown 
spaniel.  The  men  watched  the  little  one's 
wild  bounds  for  a  moment,  when  the  fat 
grocer  broke  the  silence  by  muttering,  half 
angrily :  "  The  old  man  over  there  lets  that 
child  do  whatever  she  pleases." 

"  Who  can  wonder  at  that  ?  "  replied  Doc- 
tor Heller,  as  he  shook  his  brother-in-law's 
hand  previous  to  parting  from  him.  "  The 
little  maiden  is  so  very  lovely !  and  we  should 
do  no  better  if  she  belonged  to  either  of  us. 
But  now  farewell,  old  friend!  I  have  already 
wasted  too  much  time  in  gossiping;  and 
do  not  forget  the  beer  I  am  to  have  this 
evening." 

After  this  last  remembrance,  he  hastened 
away  with  his  two  companions. 

The  little  girl  had  meanwhile  seated  her- 
self upon  the  uppermost  step  of  the  portico. 


248  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

"  Atlas ! "  she  cried  to  the  dog,  which  had 
now  run  into  the  street,  "  my  Atlas,  will  you 
not  come  to  me?" 

The  animal  ran  swiftly  towards  her,  and 
seated  himself  lovingly  by  her  side.  She 
threw  her  arms  around  his  shaggy  neck,  and 
leaned  her  tender  chin  upon  his  great  head. 
Doctor  Heller  had  spoken  truly  when  he  said, 
"  The  little  maiden  is  so  very  lovely ! "  for 
Ella  was  indeed  a  beautiful  child.  Her  dark 
hair  fell  in  long  ringlets  upon  her  white  neck, 
her  forehead  was  broad  and  smooth,  her 
cheeks  faintly  tinged  with  red,  her  large 
brown  eyes,  shaded  by  the  long  lashes  which 
hung  over  them  as  a  mourning  veil,  were 
filled  with  the  light  beaming  from  a  tender 
and  loving  soul,  and  her  fresh  young  mouth, 
with  its  smiling  lips,  was  so  charming,  that 
the  grocer,  who  was  now  seated  upon  the 
green-painted  bench  before  his  shop-door, 
could  not  take  his  eyes  from  her  lovely  face. 

The  old  burgomaster  soon  opened  the  win- 
dow. ''•  Ella,  my  dear  Ella ! "  he  cried,  "  do 
not  go  into  the  street.  Had  you  not  better 
come  in,  my  child  ?  " 


ELLA    AND    ATLAS. 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  249 

But  Ella  threw  up  her  beseeching  eyes, 
and  said  to  the  old  man :  "  Indeed  I  will  not 
go  down,  grandfather;  I  will  sit  here  quite 
quietly  :  but  do,  pray,  let  me  stay  out  a  little 
longer.  I  would  so  like  to  see  all  those 
wagons  pass  which  have  just  turned  into  our 
street." 

The  burgomaster  could  not  resist  her  gentle 
entreaty,  and  nodded  a  kindly  yes,  saying : 
"  Well,  then,  you  may  stay,  you  little  coaxing 
pussy ;  but  do  not  forget  that  to-day  is  Sun- 
day, and  that  mother  and  I  are  waiting  for 
you  to  come  and  read  the  Gospel  to  us." 

He  then  closed  the  window  slowly,  while 
his  eyes  rested  full  of  love  and  kindness  upon 
the  joy  of  his  heart,  his  little  grandchild. 
She  certainly  did  not  hear  her  grandfather's 
last  words,  for  her  whole  attention  was  fixed 
upon  a  long  train  of  vehicles,  which  were 
moving  along  as  slowly  as  if  they  formed 
part  of  a  funeral  procession.  Ella  sat  and 
gazed  upon  them.  The  front  wagon  finally 
came  quite  near,  and  she  then  discovered 
the  cause  of  the  slow  pace  at  which  they 
proceeded.  Upon  the  straw  which  covered 


250  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

the  bottoms  of  the  vehicles  human  forms, 
clothed  in  torn  uniforms,  were  lying,  and  ev- 
ery jolt  upon  the  rough  stone  pavement 
seemed  to  send  a  thrill  of  agony  through 
their  sensitive  frames. 

Little  Ella's  tender  heart  was  deeply  touched 
by  the  sight  of  this  mournful  train ;  bright 
tears  hung  upon  her  long  lashes,  and  her  slen- 
der arms  involuntarily  closed  still  more  tightly 
around  the  dog's  neck.  She  pressed  him  to 
her  bosom,  as  if  she  would  thus  quiet  the 
throbbing  of  her  compassionate  heart. 

The  last  wagon  at  length  passed  before  the 
door.  Within  it  was  a  young  man,  who  half 
sat  and  half  reclined  upon  the  straw,  and 
whose  uniform,  differing  entirely  from  that  of 
the  others,  showed  him  to  be  an  officer.  He 
had  evidently  been  severely  wounded.  His 
left  arm  was  in  a  sling,  and  he  supported  his 
head,  enveloped  in  a  rude  bandage,  upon  his 

• 

right  hand.  Both  the  bandage  and  the  tat- 
tered uniform  were  covered  with  dark-red 
blood-stains. 

As  the  wagon  was  passing  the  burgomas- 
ter's house,  a  trace  broke,  and  the  driver  left 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  251 

his  seat  to  fasten  it.  The  wounded  man 
looked  up,  and,  observing  the  child  sitting 
upon  the  steps,  he  raised  himself  with  consid- 
erable difficulty,  and  drew  his  hand  slowly 
across  his  aching  brow.  A  single  look,  im- 
ploring pity,  fell  upon  Ella ;  and  he  then  sank 
back  motionless  and  unconscious  upon  the 
straw.  The  wagon  moved  on,  and  the  driver 
seemed  to  pay  more  heed  to  his  horses  than 
to  his  wounded  passenger.  The  little  girl's 
tears  fell  thick  and  fast ;  she  watched  him  un- 
til he  had  disappeared  with  the  others  around 
a  corner.  She  then  made  a  sign  to  the  dog, 
rose  quickly,  and,  as  if  inspired  by  some  sud- 
den resolution,  hastily  entered  the  house. 

Still  deeply  moved,  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  she  opened  the  door  which  led  to  her 
mother's  apartment.  The  room  was  richly 
and  carefully  furnished,  and  bespoke  the 
wealth  and  taste  of  its  inmates.  The  long, 
flowing  window-curtains  prevented  the  sun 
from  shining  in  too  brightly;  and  only  here 
and  there  could  a  few  beams  pierce  through 
a  crevice,  and  as  they  fell  on  the  floor,  they 
seemed  to  sport  among  the  roses  adorning  the 


252  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

cheerful  carpet.  Ella's  mother  sat  in  a  high- 
backed  red-velvet  arm-chair.  She  was  the 
widow  of  an  officer,  —  Major  von  Herbart. 
Still  in  the  prime  of  life,  she  bore  on  her  coun- 
tenance, which  had  once  been  very  beautiful, 
the  traces  of  a  deep  sorrow.  A  dress  of  pearl- 
gray  merino  fell  in  soft  folds  around  her  grace- 
ful figure,  and  her  luxuriant  dark  hair  was 
covered  by  a  simple  lace  cap.  She  leaned 
against  the  crimson  covering  of  the  chair- 
back,  which  rose  high  above  her  head,  and 
her  delicate  hand  held  a  Bible,  in  which  she 
seemed  to  have  been  reading.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  portrait  of  a  young  officer, 
which  hung  against  the  wall  opposite  to  her ; 
and  hence  she  did  not  remark  her  daughter's 
entrance,  until  Ella  had  seated  herself  upon  a 
little  stool  at  her  mother's  feet,  and  pressed  a 
soft  kiss  upon  the  beloved  hand. 

"  Naughty  child ! "  said  the  mother,  as  she 
stroked  the  hair  back  from  the  fair  young  fore- 
head with  her  white  fingers,  "  how  you  startled 
me !  And  how  long  you  have  delayed  to-day 
to  read  your  Bible  to.  your  dear  grandfather 
and  myself!" 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  253 

Before  Ella  could  respond  to  this  gentle  re- 
proach, the  old  burgomaster  entered  the  room, 
and  seated  himself  silently  in  his  accustomed 
place,  near  his  daughter.  Ella  took  the  Bible 
from  her  mother's  lap,  and,  with  a  faint  and 
trembling  voice,  began  to  read  the  parable  of 
the  good  Samaritan,  upon  which  she  had  acci- 
dentally opened.  She  had  often  before  heard 
this  simple  history, — indeed,  she  almost  knew 
it  by  heart ;  but  never  before  had  its  meaning 
appeared  so  clear  to  her,  or  penetrated  so 
deeply  into  her  soul.  Her  voice  became  firm- 
er, and  the  words  resounded  more  and  more 
significantly  from  her  lips,  until,  steadfastly 
fixing  her  gaze  upon  her  grandfather's  face, 
she  gave  utterance  to  this  sentence :  "  And  he 
went  to  him,  and  bound  up  his  wounds,  pour- 
ing in  oil  and  wine,  and  set  him  on  his  own 
beast,  and  brought  him  to  an  inn,  and  took 
care  of  him." 

But  here  she  suddenly  ceased  reading, 
sprang  up,  and,  throwing  her  arms  around 
the  old  man's  neck,  said :  "  My  dear,  my 
good  grandfather!  will  you  not  grant  your 
Ella  one  prayer, — only  one?  It  is  something 
22 


254  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

you  can  do,  if  you  only  will ;  indeed,  it  will 
not  be  hard  for  you,  —  only  please  say  '  Yes,' 
before  I  tell  it  to  you  !  " 

"Another  prayer  already,  my  little  darling?" 
replied  the  burgomaster,  smiling.  "  Have  you 
so  soon  found  out  that  your  old  grandfather  is 
too  weak  and  fond  to  deny  you  anything  ? 
But,  be  it  what  it  may,  I  promise  you  before- 
hand, that,  if  I  can  fulfil  your  wish,  I  will  do 
so ;  but  out  with  it,  and  do  not  be  hiding  be- 
hind the  bushes,  for  you  know  how  little  that 
pleases  me." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Ella,  quickly,  "  I  have  noth- 
ing to  hide;  you  shall  know  all.  You  surely 
saw  the  wounded  men  who  were  brought  here 
to-day,  and  who,  as  you  told  us  yesterday,  are 
to  be  taken  to  the  hospital.  Their  necessities 
will  I  know  be  there  supplied,  but  still  I  am 
certain  many  things  will  be  wanting  which 
would  render  their  sad  fate  easier  to  bear." 

"  You  are  right,  my  Ella ;  they  cannot  find 
there  all  they  may  require,  for  our  town  is  not 
large,  and  very  few  are  the  benevolent  hearts 
willing  to  make  a  voluntary  offering,  after  the 
many  heavy  taxes  we  have  all  been  forced  to 


THE    Rt?SSIAN    OFFICER.  255 

pay.  But  you  must  not  forget,  my  child,  that 
the  men  who  have  thus  excited  your  compas- 
sion are  soldiers,  and  consequently  not  so 
spoiled  as  you  are.  They  can  easily  do  with- 
out a  thousand  comforts  which  long  custom 
has  rendered  necessary  to  your  well-being. 
A  soldier,  who  has  passed  many  a  night  upon 
the  open  field,  without  other  couch  than  the 
cold,  damp  earth,  a  stone  for  his  pillow,  and 
a  cloak  his  only  covering,  has  no  need  of  a 
soft  feather-bed  to  rest  quietly  and  soundly ; 
a  good  bunch  of  straw  is  all  he  requires." 

The  child  sighed  deeply.  The  image  of 
the  wounded  officer  who  had  fallen  back  faint- 
ing upon  the  straw,  the  pleading  look  which 
his  mournful  eyes  had  cast  upon  her,  would 
not  quit  her  excited  fancy,  and  the  desire  of 
assisting  him  became  ever  stronger  and  deeper. 
"  Ah ! "  said  she,  after  a  short  pause,  "  I  would 
not  lie  in  that  hospital  for  anything  in  the 
world!  I  was  once  there  when  our  coach- 
man's wife  had  a  fever,  but  I  was  soon  obliged 
to  leave  the  room ;  the  dreadful  heat  and  poi- 
soned air  nearly  stifled  me,  and  I  certainly 
should  have  died,  had  I  been  forced  to  remain 


256  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

there  long.  The  common  soldiers  may  indeed 
be  accustomed  to  bear  much  greater  hard- 
ships ;  but  I  saw  some  officers  lying  upon  the 
wagons,  and  they  must  suffer  a  great  deal. 
You  have  promised,  dear  grandfather,  to  grant 
my  request :  take  then  one,  only  one,  of  those 
poor  fellows  into  your  own  house.  Others 
will  follow  your  example,  and  thus  may  at 
least  some  of  them  be  well  cared  for.  O,  do 
not  look  so  doubtingly ! "  continued  Ella,  in 
her  gentlest  and  most  persuasive  accents  ;  "  I 
am  sure  your  heart  assents  to  my  wish,  even 
if  your  lips  be  silent." 

The  little  girl  did  not  wait  for  an  answer, 
but  left  the  room,  and  in  a  few  moments  re- 
turned with  her  grandfather's  hat  and  cane. 
She  placed  them  both  in  his  hands,  tied  on 
her  bonnet,  threw  a  light  shawl  round  her 
shoulders ;  and,  having  pressed  a  warm  kiss 
upon  her  mother's  lips,  she  led  out  the  half- 
reluctant  old  man,  who  scarcely  yet  compre- 
hended what  he  was  expected  to  do.  The 
widow  gazed  with  tearful  eyes  upon  her  little- 
daughter's  retreating  figure. 

Ella's  cheeks  soon  glowed  from  the  effects 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  257 

of  her  rapid  pace ;  her  dark  locks  floated  in 
the  wind,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  joy. 
She  hastened  onwards  faster  and  faster,  greet- 
ing with  a  gracious  smile  all  the  acquaintan- 
ces whom  she  met,  while  from  time  to  time 
she  turned  her  head  back  towards  the  old 
man,  who  in  vain  signed  to  her  that  she  must 
moderate  her  steps.  The  hospital  was  soon 
reached.  It  was  an  old  building,  whose  gray 
walls  had  already  seen  many  centuries ;  its 
lofty  windows  were  filled  with  numerous  little 
panes,  a  portion  of  which  were  broken  out; 
and  the  whole  aspect  of  the  sombre  edifice 
was  such,  that  no  one  could  wonder  at  its 
gloomy  effect  upon  a  child's  susceptible  im- 
agination. Ella  shuddered  as  her  foot  crossed 
the  threshold.  She  remembered  the  dismal 
scenes  she  had  once  before  witnessed  within 
these  melancholy  walls ;  and,  starting  back, 
she  covered  her  face  with  both  hands.  But 
they  were  not  long  suffered  to  remain  in  this 
position,  for  her  grandfather  soon  clasped 
them  in  his  own,  and  said,  laughing,  "  Aha, 
little  deer!  have  I  caught  you  at  last?  But 
now  you  are  my  prisoner,  and  I  shall  cot  let 
22* 


258  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

you  escape,  or  you  will  run  away  from  me 
again,  and  I  am  already  out  of  breath." 

"  O  no !  "  cried  Ella,  shuddering,  "  I  could 
have  gone  no  farther  alone.  This  great  old 
building  fills  me  with  dread.  Hold  me  tight, 
dear  grandfather,  or  I  shall  be  so  afraid! " 

The  burgomaster  opened  the  door,  and  they 
entered  a  long,  dark  passage,  in  which  they 
met  Doctor  Heller.  "  Only  see,  now  !  "  cried 
the  doctor,  as  his  wondering  eyes  fell  upon 
Ella  and  her  grandfather ;  "  here  are  the  bur- 
gomaster and  the  little  lady  in  our  old  dingy 
castle.  To  what  happy  accident  do  we  owe 
this  honor?" 

"  Good  day,  doctor ! "  replied  the  burgo- 
master, friendlily.  "  I  came  to  see  how  your 
patients  are  doing,  especially  the  new-comers." 

"  O,  quite  well,  —  excellently!"  answered 
the  doctor,  gayly  rubbing  his  hands.  "  They 
are  well  lodged,  and  the  greater  number  have 
already  had  their  wounds  dressed ;  I  wil] 
bring  them  all  well  through." 

"  O,  take  us  to  see  them !  "  besought  Ella, 
interrupting  him  somewhat  impatiently. 

The  doctor  looked  inquiringly  at  the  burgo- 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  259 

master.  "  You  must  do  as  she  pleases,"  said 
the  latter,  clapping  his  hand  upon  the  physi- 
cian's shoulder;  while  he  added,  jestingly, 
"  I  believe  my  little  granddaughter  has  some 
intention  of  dabbling  in  your  trade ;  we  will 
see  how  she  will  manage  it." 

The  doctor  laughed.  "  Now  judge  for 
yourselves,"  said  he,  as  he  ushered  them  in- 
to a  spacious  hall  crowded  with  the  wounded 
men  ;  "  are  not  those  soldiers  as  well  lodged 
and  cared  for  as  if  they  were  princes  ?  " 

The  burgomaster  shook  his  head  as  he  re- 
plied gently :  "  Not  quite  so,  but  they  must 
be  content,  for  it  is  the  best  we  can  do  for 
them.  I  think,  however,  that  some  improve- 
ments might  be  made;  if,  for  example,  we 
were  to  repair  the  dilapidated  rooms  upon 
the  other  side  of  the  building.  But  where  is 
Ella  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  missed  the  child 
from  his  side. 

"  There  she  is,"  said  the  doctor,  somewhat 
vexed  that  his  arrangements  had  not  met 
with  a  more  cordial  approval ;  "  yonder,  by' 
the  middle  window." 

The  burgomaster  turned  towards  the  spot 


260  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

indicated.  Upon  a  heap  of  straw  covered  with 
a  coarse  cloth,  lay  the  apparenly  lifeless  body 
of  a  young  man.  A  feeble  sunbeam,  which 
found  its  way  through  the  dingy  window- 
panes,  fell  upon  his  pallid  face,  and  revealed 
a  deep,  gaping  wound  upon  his  forehead. 
Long  black  hair  hung  in  disorder-  round  his 
temples.  His  pale  lips,  shaded  by  a  dark 
moustache,  were  rigidly  closed,  and  his  right 
hand  was  tightly  pressed  upon  his  breast, 
which  was  not  stirred  by  the  faintest  sign  of 
breath.  Ella  hung  over  the  body  with  her 
little  hands  folded  together,  apparently  ab- 
sorbed in  thought.  As  her  grandfather  ap- 
proached, she  rose  and  said :  u  Only  see ! 
there  he  is.  I  knew  him  at  once!" 

"  Who  is  it  ?  Whom  have  you  recog- 
nized ? "  asked  the  astonished  burgomaster. 
"  Certainly  not  this  young  man;  I  do  not 
remember  having  ever  seen  him  before ! " 

"  But  I  saw  him,"  replied  Ella,  quickly,  as 
she  vainly  endeavored  to  hide  her  tears ;  "  I 
saw  him  as  he  rode  past  our  door,  and  he  saw 
me  too,  for  he  looked  at  me  so  piteously,  as 
if  he  would  have  said,  '  O  do  help  me ! ' 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  261 

And  then  he  closed  his  eyes  and  fainted. 
But  he  is  not  dead,  I  ,am  sure  he  is  not, 
grandfather!  Let  us  take  him  home  to  my 
little  room,  and  he  will  soon  recover.  You 
shall  have  no  trouble  with  him,  nor  my  dear 
mother  either ;  I  promise  you  that  I  will  care 
for  everything ! " 

The  old  gentleman  shook  his  head,  and, 
turning  to  the  doctor,  said:  "Judging  from 
his  uniform,  this  young  man  cannot  belong 
to  our  army.  But  why  has  not  some  one 
attempted  to  restore  him  to  life  ?  Apparent- 
ly, no  efforts  have  as  yet  been  made  to  aid 
him!" 

"  He  is  only  a  Russian ! "  replied  the  doc- 
tor, contemptuously ;  "  there  is  no  need  for 
any  great  hurry  about  him !  ' 

"  A  Russian ! "  cried  the  astonished  burgo- 
master. 

"  A  Russian ! "  repeated  Ella,  horrified,  as 
all  the  cruel  scenes  of  which  she  had  been 
told,  in  which  the  Russians  had  played  so 
prominent  a  part,  passed  before  her  mind. 

"  Yes,  a  Russian !  "  said  the  doctor,  coldly ; 
"  and  now,  my  little  lady,  I  am  sure  you  will 


262  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

renounce  your  design  of  having  this  man  re- 
moved to  your  grandfather's  house.  Besides, 
we  can  scarcely  hope  that  his  eyes  will  ever 
again  open  ;  and  if  he  can  be  helped,"  he  con- 
tinued, half  angrily,  "  it  can  be  done  as  well 
here  as  elsewhere." 

Ella  again  placed  herself  beside  the  wound- 
ed man ;  all  her  fear  had  vanished ;  one  look 
upon  the  pale  young  face  had  told  her  that  all 
the  Russians  could  not  be  so  bad  as  they  had 
been  represented. 

"  But  how  can  this  one  ever  do  us  any 
harm  ? "  she  cried,  again  renewing  her  en- 
treaties to  her  grandfather. 

The  old  gentleman  was  at  first  very  averse 
to  granting  her  request,  but  all  the  arguments 
which  he  drew  from  the  almost  universal  prej- 
udices then  existing  against  the  young  man's 
nation  proved  fruitless.  Ella  begged  and 
prayed,  until  he  finally  yielded.  An  arrange- 
ment was  made  by  which  the  wounded  man 
was  to  be  carefully  borne  to  the  burgomaster's 
upon  a  litter,  which  the  doctor  promised  him- 
self to  accompany.  Ella  and  her  grandfather 
hastened  home  to  prepare  all  for  his  reception. 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  263 

The  child  proposed  to  give  up  her  own 
little  room  to  the  stranger,  because,  as  she 
said,  her  flowers  would  please  him,  and  he 
would  be  less  disturbed  by  the  noise  from  the 
street. 

"  But  where  will  you  sleep  yourself  dur- 
ing so  long  a  time  ?  "  asked  Ella's  mother, 
who  was  evidently  well  pleased  with  her 
little  girl's  activity,  as  she  ordered  her  bed 
to  be  exchanged  for  another,  hastily  put 
away  her  playthings,  shut  her  books  tip  in 
a  closet,  and,  although  everything  looked 
very  orderly,  still  found  something  new  to 
arrange. 

"  I  ?  "  replied  Ella,  somewhat  embarrassed, 
and  standing  for  a  moment  irresolute ;  "  I 
never  thought  of  that ! "  Then,  as  if  struck 
by  a  sudden  inspiration,  she  ran  to  her  mother, 
threw  her  arms  around  her  neck,  and  cried, 
laughing :  "  Will  you  not,  rny  dear  mother, 
if  I  beg  you  right  hard,  take  me  into  your 
own  room,  me  and  my  Atlas?  Atlas  only 
wants  a  little  place  in  a  corner,  and  you  can 
let  my  little  bed  stand  near  yours,  as  it  used 
to  do.  That  will  be  delightful!  I  shall  enjoy 


264  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

it  so  much,  for  early  in  the  morning  I  can  put 
my  head  in  between  the  curtains,  lift  the  cover 
very  softly,  and,  before  you  know  it,  I  will  be 
right  close  to  you ;  then  you  will  fold  me  in 
your  arms,  and  we  will  together  pray  to  God 
never  to  part  us." 

The  child  thus  prattled  on  until  the  flow  of 
her  discourse  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival 
of  the  unfortunate  man,  for  whose  sake  she 
had  been  making  all  these  preparations. 

"  Ha ! "  cried  the  doctor,  as  he  entered  the 
room,  "  I  can  believe  that  one  might  be  well 
satisfied  here ;  it  looks  like  a  little  paradise. 
Come  in,  my  men,  and  help  me  to  lay  this 
poor  fellow  upon  the  bed,  —  so.  Now  you 
may  go. —  But,  most  gracious  lady,  your 
most  obedient!  Pardon  me,  that  in  the  con- 
fusion I  did  not  observe  you  sooner.  Your 
daughter  has  brought  plenty  of  trouble  into 
your  house  ;  but  the  old  gentleman  must  bear 
all  the  blame ;  he  should  not  have  permitted 
himself  to  be  so  easily  persuaded." 

"  Do  you  then  think,  my  dear  doctor,  that  I 
have  so  little  compassion?"  asked  the  mother, 
interrupting  him.  "  Do  you  think  that  I 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  265 

would  fear  a  little  discomfort  when  a  suffer- 
ing fellow-creature  could  be  aided?  O,  I 
would  willingly  make  still  greater  sacrifices," 
she  continued,  as  she  clasped  the  hand  of 
the  unconscious  youth,  "  if  I  could  recall 
life  into  this  young  frame,  —  a  life  upon 
which  may  perhaps  depend  that  of  a  loving 
mother !  " 

The  doctor  laughed  scornfully,  and  mut- 
tered, "  As  if  a  Russian  could  have  any 

* 
feeling!'  (I  No  one  heeded   this  speech,  and 

he  continued :  "  The  wound  upon  the  head 
is  not  dangerous  ;  I  have  just  dressed  it,  and 
there  will  be  no  need  of  amputating  the  arm. 
He  seems  much  exhausted  from  loss  of  blood, 
for  he  has  lain  in  this  position  during  several 
hours." 

At  this  moment  the  wounded  man  opened 
his  eyes,  which  he,  however,  immediately  re- 
closed,  as  if  blinded  by  the  light;  a  slight 
tinge  of  color  flushed  his  pale  cheek,  and  a 
faint  sigh  escaped  his  lips. 

"  He  lives  !  "  cried  Ella,  joyfully,  "  he  has 
opened  his  eyes ! " 

But  the  doctor  quickly  laid  his  finger  on 

23 


266  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

his  lips,  in  token  that  entire  quiet  was  neces- 
sary, while  he  at  the  same  time  shut  out  the 
light  by  closing  the  curtains.  A  soft  twi- 
light thus  pervaded  the  room,  and  all  looks 
were  turned  in  expectation  towards  the  young 
Russian,  who  again  opened  his  eyes,  which 
rested*  upon  those  around  him,  at  first  with 
an  expression  of  doubt  and  amazement,  but 
finally  beamed  with  the  most  delighted  sur- 
prise. He  sought  in  vain  to  rise:  he  sank 
back  exhausted  upon  the  pillows,  and  equally 
fruitless  were  his  efforts  to  articulate  a  single 
word. 

With  some  difficulty  he  seized  upon  Ella's 
hand,  and  pressed  it  to  his  heart.  This  move- 
ment told  the  child  very  plainly  that  she  had 
been  recognized.  She  could  scarcely  con- 
ceal her  joy.  But  the  physician,  who  was 
anxious  to  avoid  every  emotion  which  might 
prove  injurious  to  the  patient  in  his  present 
state,  desired  that  for  a  little  while  he  should 
be  left  alone.  He  promised  to  send  an  expe- 
rienced nurse,  and  to  call  again  in  the  course 
of  the  day. 

With  difficulty  could  Ella  be  persuaded  to 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  267 

leave  her  charge ;  she  followed  her  mother 
unwillingly,  and  gazed  upon  the  wounded 
man  until  the  door  of  the  apartment  had 
closed  behind  her. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    LETTER. 

ONE  day,  about  four  weeks  after  the  occur- 
rences related  in  our  last  chapter,  Madame 
von  Herbart  was  seated  in  a  neat  little  cabi- 
net, where  she  usually  passed  her  morning 
hours,  employed  in  the  instruction  of  her 
daughter.  Through  the  open  door,  which 
offered  a  pleasant  view  into  a  beautiful  gar- 
den, whose  trees  and  parterres  were  already 
tinged  with  the  brilliant  hues  of  autumn,  a 
whole  flood  of  perfumes  streamed  into  the 
pretty  apartment.  The  widow  sat  by  her 
writing-table  opposite  the  door,  with  Ella  by 
her  side  attentively  listening  to  her  mother's 
words,  while  she  related  the  history  of  the  no- 
ble and  high-hearted,  but  unfortunate  Grand- 
master, Henry  von  Plauen. 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  269 

She  graphically  detailed  to  her  daughter 
the  shameful  web  of  hatred,  envy,  and  treach- 
ery which  caused  the  downfall  of  this  truly 
great  man.  With  glowing  words  she  painted 
the  blackness  of  the  ingratitude  with  which 
he  was  rewarded  by  the  very  brethren  of  the 
order  which  he  had  himself  saved  from  ruin 
by  his  own  exertions,  and  how  they  robbed 
him  of  all  his  dignities  and  honors,  keeping  a 
close  watch  upon  him  until  death  freed  him 
from  their  persecution. 

"  O  my  child ! "  she  continued,  "  how  great 
is  the  sin  of  ingratitude !  What  depravity 
does  it  not  evince,  to  distress  and  injure 
those  who  have  only  done  us  good !  Such  a 
deed  is  never  suffered  to  pass  unpunished  by 
a  righteous  Heaven,  and  the  German  order 
stands  as  a  warning  example  in  history  ;  for 
the  overthrow  of  the  high-hearted  Plauen  was 
the  first  step  in  its  own  downfall." 

"  May  I  come  in  ? "  asked  a  gentle  but 
manly  voice,  at  this  moment  interrupting  the 
narrative  of  Madame  von  Herbart. 

Ella  sprang  up  from  her  seat,  exclaiming, 
"  It  is  Theodore ! "  and  hastened  to  the  door. 

23* 


270  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

The  wounded  Russian  could  scarcely  be 
recognized  in  the  young  man  who  now  ap- 
proached the  widow  with  a  light  tread,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  bandage  which  was  still 
wound  about  his  brow,  and  the  sling  in  which 
his  left  hand  rested.  Although  his  wounds 
were  not  yet  entirely  healed,  the  short  time 
had  produced  a  wonderful  change  in  his  ap- 
pearance. Instead  of  the  deathly  pallor,  a 
healthy  red  tinged  his  youthful  cheeks,  his 
dull,  sunken  eyes  had  regained  their  fire;  in 
short,  a  change  had  taken  place  in  his  whole 
exterior,  similar  to  that  we  may  often  perceive 
when  the  caterpillar,  after  an  apparent  death, 
suddenly  throws  off  his  ugly  shell  and  flutters 
around  us  as  a  beautiful  butterfly. 

"  May  I  hope  for  your  pardon,  my  gracious 
lady  ?  "  asked  the  young  man,  in  fluent  but 
slightly  foreign  German,  while  he  reverentially 
lifted  Madame  von  Herbart's  hand  to  his  lips. 
"  May  I  hope  that  you  will  pardon  my  bold- 
ness in  having  interrupted  you  ?  " 

Madame  von  Herbart  signed  to  him  to  be 
seated  upon  an  arm-chair  which  Ella  had 
just  left,  and  said  kindly  :  "  Your  unexpected 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  271 

appearance  gives  great  pleasure.  I  congratu- 
late you  upon  the  happy  termination  of  your 
tedious  captivity.  You  have  not  disturbed 
us,  for  Ella's  school-hours  are  just  ended." 

"  You  teach  your  daughter  yourself?  "  asked 
the  young  Russian,  somewhat  surprised. 

"  I  am  too  jealous  of  the  love  of  my  only 
child,"  replied  Madame  von  Herbart,  "  to  trust 
any  stranger  with  so  important  a  share  of  my 
maternal  duties.  I  often  feel  the  insufficiency 
of  my  own  acquirements,  but  I  shun  no  labor 
in  learning  all  myself  which  I  judge  necessary 
for  my  child;  and  thus,  while  forming  her 
mind,  I  can  at  the  same  time  influence  her 
heart.  It  is  said,"  she  added,  smiling,  "that 
all  mothers  think  their  own  children  prodigies 
of  loveliness ;  but  though  I  flatter  myself  this 
is  not  my  case,  for  I  know  my  Ella's  faults, 
yet  I  venture  to  hope  that  she  will  correct 
them  all,  through  love  for  a  mother  who,  since 
her  beloved  husband's  death,  has  found  her 
purest  and  highest-  happiness  in  the  education 
of  her  daughter." 

A  dark  shadow,  a  painful  contraction,  ap- 
parently caused  by  the  remembrance  of  past 


'272  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

days,  passed  over  Theodore's  features.  He 
endeavored  to  conceal  the  depth  of  his  inward 
emotion,  and  cried  out:  "  What  is  higher  and 
holier  in  the  world  than  a  mother's  love  ? " 
After  a  moment's  pause,  he  added,  as  if  speak- 
ing to  himself:  "  And  what  can  be  more  pain- 
ful than  to  be  forced  to  part  with  this  heaven- 
ly affection  early  in  life  ?  " 

Madame  von  Herbart  laid  her  hand  upon 
the  young  man's  head,  as  if  in  the  act  of 
blessing  him,  and  said  tenderly:  "Poor  boy! 
you  must  have  been  very  young  when  you 
were  torn  from  the  protection  of  a  loving 
home,  and  thrust  into  the  world.  Scarcely 
yet  a  man,  you  have  already  used  the  bloody 
SAVord  which  your  feeble  hands  could  hardly 
lift.  Your  compatriots  have  deeply  injured 
my  country,  and  you,  too,  came  as  an  enemy 
upon  the  soil  so  dear  to  me ;  your  wounds 
show  that  you  wore  your  arms  as  no  idle  or- 
naments, and  yet  I  cannot  hate  you,  for  he 
who  needs  our  aid  is  no  longer  an  enemy. 
You  are  a  Russian,  and  you  weep  ?  "  she  con- 
tinued, gently  raising  the  young  man's  head, 
which  had  fallen  upon  his  breast.  "I  have 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  273 

often  heard  that  the  Russians  were  all  rough 
and  cruel,  and  yet  you  weep.  O,  do  not  be 
ashamed  of  your  tears !  they  prove  the  good- 
ness of  your  heart,  and  justify  the  sympathy 
you  have  excited  within  my  soul." 

"  O  my  dear  benefactress !  "  exclaimed  The- 
odore, "where  shall  I  find  words  to  thank 
you?  Could  you  read  my  heart,  —  could  you 
see  how  the  thought  of  the  priceless  benefits 
you  have  showered  upon  me  fills  my  whole 
soul, — how  all  my  feelings  are  fused  into  an 
overwhelming  sense  of  gratitude,  which  I 
struggle  in  vain  to  express,  —  you  would  not 
wonder  at  my  silence.  What  true  nobility 
did  it  not  require  to  take  an  enemy  of  your 
country  into  your  own  house,  and  nurse  and 
treat  him  with  such  kindness  as  you  have 
shown  to  me!" 

Theodore  was  in  the  highest  state  of  excite- 
ment, and  again  pressed  his  lips  upon  the 
lady's  hand.  She  gently  drew  it  from  his 
clasp,  and  said,  mildly :  "  But  how  excited 
you  are!  What  would  Doctor  Heller  say, 
were  he  to  see  you  now?  He  would  think 
that  the  fever,  which  during  so  many  weeks 


274  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

sent  the  blood  seething  through  your  veins, 
had  again  seized  upon  you,  and  he  would 
quickly  withdraw  his  permission  for  you  to 
leave  your  chamber.  Away  with  all  thoughts 
which  could  be  injurious  to  your  health  !  And 
now  avail  yourself  of  the  Doctor's  leave  to 
take  a  stroll  in  the  garden  ;  your  little  nurse, 
to  whom  you  owe  much  more  than  to  me, 
shall  accompany  you." 

"  Ah,  my  little  Ella ! "  cried  Theodore,  mak- 
ing an  effort  to  appear  more  calm  than  he  re- 
ally was,  "  if  you  will  be  my  guide,  the  garden, 
which  as  yet  I  have  only  seen  from  my  win- 
dows, will  seem  to  me  doubly  beautiful." 

He  then  lifted  up  the  child  with  his  unin- 
jured right  arm,  and  kissed  and  fondled  her 
with  a  thousand  expressions  of  his  gratitude. 
"  But  now  we  must  be  good  children,  and  do 
as  mamma  bids,"  said  he,  at  length,  taking 
Ella's  hand,  and  leading  her  out  into  the  gar- 
den. In  a  few  moments  both  had  disap- 
peared among  the  old  trees. 

We  will  leave  the  mother  alone  in  her  per- 
fumed cabinet,  where  she  drew  from  one  cor- 
ner of  her  writing-desk  a  package  of  letters, 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  275 

written  to  her  by  her  late  husband  before  their 
marriage  ;  we  will  leave  her  with  these  clearly 
treasured  pages,  already  wet  with  so  many 
tears,  and  follow  the  youthful  pair,  whom  we 
again  find  at  the  end  of  a  shady  avenue  of 
lindens. 

"  Take  these  pears,"  said  Ella  to  her  com- 
panion. "  They  are  quite  ripe,  and  my  mother 
planted  the  tree  which  bore  them  before  she 
was  as  old  as  I  am  now  ;  she  prefers  pears  to 
all  other  fruits.  But  you  are  not  gay,"  she 
continued,  looking  true-heartedly  into  the 
young  man's  eyes.  "  Are  you  thinking  of 
your  mother  who  is  dead  ?  " 

She  waited  in  vain  for  an  answer,  and  then 
prattled  on :  "  My  father  is  dead,  too ;  he 
fought  at  Collin,  under  Ziethen,  and  as  he  led 
his  soldiers  to  seize  upon  a  battery  which  was 
doing  much  harm  to  the  Prussians,  a  wicked 
bullet  struck  him.  I  cried  a  great  deal,  and 
mamma  always  weeps  whenever  she  thinks 
of  him,  and  of  my  dear  brother,  who  soon  fol- 
lowed my  father.  Ah,  if  Victor  were  only 
alive !  He  loved  me  so  dea-ly,  arid  it  was 
such  a  pleasure  to  play  with  him ;  but  since 


276  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

God  took  him  to  his  beautiful  heaven,  I  like 
best  to  stay  with  mamma  and  my  old  grand- 
father. And  when  I  want  to  run  about  awhile, 
I  call  Atlas,  papa's  favorite  dog,  for  I  do  not 
care  to  play  with  other  children." 

"  And  do  you  not  like,  then,  to  stay  with 
me,  my  Ella  ?  "  asked  the  young  man. 

"  O  yes,  I  do,  indeed !  I  love  you  very 
much.  While  you  were  sick  I  brought  you 
the  most  beautiful  flowers,  and  the  finest  fruit 
from  the  garden,  but  you  would  scarcely  ever 
taste  it.  Sometimes  you  seemed  to  recognize 
me,  and  then  you  would  press  my  hand  to 
your  lips,  which  burned  like  fire ;  but  you 
would  often  push  me  away  from  you,  and 
speak  words  which  I  could  not  understand. 
My  grandfather  told  me  it  was  your  mother 
tongue,  and  your  delirium  seemed  to  lead  you 
again  into  the  battle,  for  you  gave  orders,  and 
cried  several  times,  '  Stand  fast,  comrades ! 
stand  fast !  We  will  show  that  we  do  not  fear 
death  !  Let  us  conquer  or  die  ! '  Ah  !  then 
I  often  knelt  down  by  the  bed,  and  prayed 
God  that  he  would  soon  make  you  well." 

"  Did  you  do  that  ?     Did  you,  indeed,  do 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  277 

that,  my  little  angel?"  asked  Theodore,  draw- 
ing the  child  gently  towards  him,  while  his 
voice  trembled  with  emotion,  and  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

"  Certainly  I  did  it,"  replied  Ella ;  "  and 
that  is  why  you  are  well  now,  for  God  has 
promised  that,  if  we  call  upon  him  when  we 
are  in  trouble,  he  will  save  us  ;  and  as  you 
could  not  pray  yourself,  I  did  it  for  you." 

The  child  ceased ;  they  had  just  reached 
the  end  of  the  garden,  and  stood  upon  a  little 
mound  adorned  with  firs  and  birches,  near  a 
pleasure-house  which  bore  some  resemblance 
to  a  hermit's  hut. 

"  Listen,  Theodore ;  you  do  not  seem  to 
like  our  garden,"  said  Ella  reproachfully,  while 
she  laid  her  hand  upon  the  door,  "  and  yet 
every  one  says  it  is  the  prettiest  in  the  city, 
and  even  strangers  often  ask  for  permission 
to  walk  through  it.  But  only  come  in  here, 
and  then  you  will  surely  exclaim,  How  beau- 
tiful !  how  glorious  !  " 

The  child  led  the  young  man  through  the 
open  door  with  a  triumphant  air,  as  if  quite 
sure  of  the  impression  to  be  produced.  He 

24 


278  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

looked  round  attentively.  The  walls  of  the 
little  building  were  clothed  with  soft,  velvety 
moss,  which  still  retained  its  hue  of  tender 
green  ;  many-colored  shells  were  scattered 
round,  some  forming  the  initials  of  beloved 
names,  and  others  disposed  in  fanciful  ara- 
besques. The  tessellated  floor  was  strewn 
with  fresh  flowers.  On  one  side  stood  a  com- 
fortable sofa,  and  upon  a  low  stool  near  the 
door  lay  a  piece  of  woman's  work,  evidently 
just  commenced.  The  whole  made  a  most 
favorable  impression  upon  the  beholder  ;  nev- 
ertheless Theodore  looked  as  if  disappointed, 
and  was  about  making  this  confession  to  his 
little  friend,  when  she  suddenly  closed  the 
door,  and  they  stood  together  in  the  darkness. 

"  "Will  you  play  hide  and  go  seek  with  me, 
Ella  ?  "  cried  Theodore,  laughing. 

But  scarcely  had  he  uttered  these  words, 
when  the  opposite  wall  opened  as  if  by  mag- 
ic, and  a  loud  cry  of  surprise  and  pleasure 
burst  from  his  lips,  while  his  eyes  rested  upon 
the  lovely  scene  which  he  suddenly  saw  be- 
fore him.  Ella  stood  near  with  folded  arms, 
and  sought  to  read  in  his  face  whether  his 


ELLA    AND     THEODORE 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  279 

delight  was  as  great  as  she  had  anticipated. 
Apparently  satisfied  with  her  observations, 
she  stepped  nearer  to  him,  and,  lightly  mount- 
ing upon  the  stool,  threw  her  left  arm  round 
his  neck,  and  pointed  with  her  right  hand 
towards  the  valley,  stretching  beyond  the 
houses  of  the  little  city  lying  at  their  feet. 

"  In  our  garden,"  she  said  seriously,  "  the 
trees  are  variously  planted  and  trimmed  ;  the 
blooming  hedges  are  carefully  trained,  and 
my  dear  grandfather  even  had  a  pond  made, 
because  I  am  so  fond  of  the  water ;  but  do 
you  see  all  this  ?  Our  good  God  arranged  it 
all  himself,  and  therefore  is  U  much  more 
beautiful  than  our  garden.  How  pure  and 
clear  is  the  water  of  that  little  lake !  See  how 
the  birches,  with  their  white  stems  and  long 
hanging  branches,  are  reflected  in  its  shining 
mirror ;  and  how  the  cows  pasture  and  the 
sheep  play  so  gayly  upon  the  green  meadows. 
Look  beyond  the  lake  at  that  great  forest  of 
fir-trees  ;  how  quietly  the  villages  rest  in  its 
shadow,  as  if  they  thought  themselves  quite 
safe  under  its  protection  !  " 

Her  hand  still  pointed  towards  the  distant 


280  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

view,  although  Theodore's  eyes  had  long 
ceased  to  follow  its  direction,  and  rested  upon 
the  features  of  the  little  speaker.  Ella  turned 
towards  him,  and,  as  if  ashamed,  cast  down 
her  eyes.  "  Are  you  not  glad,"  she  said 
softly,  "  that  God  has  made  it  all  so  beau- 
tiful ?  " 

Theodore  made  no  answer ;  he  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  troubled  breast  and  sighed  : 
"  What  a  struggle  will  it  cost  me  to  tear  my- 
self away !  And  yet  I  cannot  remain  much 
longer." 

"You  are  going  away!"  cried  Ella,  look- 
ing up  in  dismay.  "  You  are  going  to  leave 
us ! "  she  repeated  mournfully,  bursting  into 
tears. 

Theodore  forced  a  smile  to  pacify  the  child. 
He  kissed  the  bright  drops  from  her  cheek, 
and  said:  "  Fear  nothing,  my  little  one,  I  will 
not  leave  you  yet.  And  for  love  of  you  I  will 
again  become  a  child ;  neither  past  nor  future 
shall  trouble  me  ;  I  will  yield  myself  entirely 
to  the  joy  of  the  present,  without  looking 
backwards  or  forwards.  But  now,  my  little 
angel,  leave  me  for  a  while ! " 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  281 

With  these  words  he  led  the  child  to  the 
door,  threw  himself  exhausted  upon  the  sofa, 
laid  his  head  upon  the  soft  cushion,  and,  over- 
come by  his  unusual  excitement,  was  soon  in 
a  deep  sleep. 

He  had  thus  rested  about  an  hour,  when  he 
was  awakened  by  a  loud  voice,  which  cried  : 
"  Now,  my  young  sir !  what  does  all  this 
mean  ?  Window  and  door  both  open,  and 
there  you  lie  and  sleep.  Do  you  call  that 
reasonable  ?  " 

The  speaker  was  Frederick,  the  burgomas- 
ter's old  servant. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere 
during  the  last  hour,  and  if  the  little  lady  had 
not  told  me  you  were  here,  I  might  have  been 
looking  for  you  yet.  I  have  a  letter  for  you, 
brought  by  a  little  boy,  who  begged  me  to 
place  it  in  your  own  hands.  I  have  looked 
at  the  paper  carefully  on  both  sides,  and  as 
there  is  nothing  on  it  but  a  line  of  crooked 
pot-hooks,  that  can  harm  nobody,  I  may  as 
well  give  it  to  you.  Here  it  is." 

Theodore  rose  slowly,'  took  the  note  from 
the  servant's  hand,  gazed  long  upon  the  char- 

24* 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

acters,  and  finally  sank  back,  pale  as  death, 
and  gasping  for  breath. 

"  What  a  curious  people  these  Russians 
are ! "  muttered  Frederick,  angrily,  while  he 
gazed  upon  the  young  man  with  evident  dis- 
pleasure. "  God  knows  I  cannot  bear  a  Rus- 
sian, as,  indeed,  no  true-hearted  Prussian  can ; 
still,  I  thought  they  were  men,  but  this  one 
is  no  stronger  than  an  old  woman.  He  hangs 
his  head  as  if  the  hens  had  picked  up  all  his 
crumbs,  and  is  so  feeble  that  he  can  scarcely 
stand  upon  his  feet,  all  because  of  a  couple  of 
sorry  blows  and  a  flesh  wound,  that  one  of  us 
would  not  have  cared  a  fig  for.  Yes,  yes,  Mr. 
Ensign,  or  Mr.  Captain,  or  whatever  your 
title  may  be,  you  need  not  look  so  incredu- 
lous, for  I  was  in  both  the  first  Silesian  wars, 
and  have  stood  many  a  charge  when  blood 
fell  fast  as  rain,  and  the  Austrians  fled  until 
it  was  a  joy  to  see  them.  And  when  younger 
men  shall  be  wanting,  I  may  perhaps  venture 
my  old  bones  once  more,  especially  if  there 
be  any  chance  of  fighting  the  Russians.  —  But, 
old  fool  that  I  am,"  continued  he,  interrupting 
himself,  "  when  I  once  begin  on  that  subject 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICJER.  283 

my  heart  is  on  my  tongue,  and  both  run  away 
from  me  as  if  Captain  '  Quickstep '  had  com- 
mand. —  Nay,  that  shall  not  happen  again!  — 
But  now,  right  about,  my  young  sir !  Wheel 
round  and  march  into  the  house.  Lay  your 
hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  I  will  help  you  to- 
day, even  if  you  are  a  Russian.  Any  one,  to 
hear  you  talk,  would  really  think  you  the  child 
of  German  parents.  Where  did  you  learn 
our  language  ? " 

"  From  my  mother,"  replied  Theodore,  faint- 
ly and  abstractedly ;  "  from  my  mother,  who 
was  educated  in  Germany." 

The  manner  in  which  these  words  were 
spoken  deprived  the  servant  of  the  courage 
to  ask  any  more  questions,  and  both  silently 
entered  the  house.  Theodore  went  immedi- 
ately to  his  own  chamber,  which  he  left  no 
more  during  the  whole  day. 

A  week  passed,  and  Theodore,  whose  health 
had  before  so  rapidly  improved,  seemed  to  be 
a  changed  man  since  the  reception  of  that 
letter,  of  which  no  one  knew  anything  but 
Frederick,  from  whom  Theodore  had  with 


284  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

difficulty  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  promise  of 
secrecy.  No  one  had  rver  seen  him  very  gay, 
but  now  he  would  sit  for  hours  motionless  in 
the  same  spot.  No  smiles  or  sounds  of  joy 
parted  his  lips  ;  and  when  he  spoke,  the  tone 
of  his  voice  betrayed  a  deep  and  hidden  sor- 
row. When  he  was  asked  the  cause  of  his 
altered  demeanor,  he  would  shake  his  head, 
his  eyes  would  fill  with  tears,  and  the  most 
painful  expression  would  rest  upon  his  fea- 
tures. 

Ella,  especially,  made  him  many  reproaches, 
for  he  had  promised  her  to  be  very  gay ;  she 
beset  him  unceasingly  with  her  sympathizing 
questions,  to  which  he  usually  returned  no 
answer. 

"  Are  you  ill  again  ?  "  she  asked  one  day, 
after  having  exhausted  all  possible  conjec- 
tures, to  which  a  dry  "No"  had  been  the  sole 
response. 

"  Ah,  yes  indeed !  ill,  ill ! "  replied  Theo- 
dore, so  quickly  that  one  might  easily  see 
how  glad  he  was  to  have  found  any  explana- 
tion for  his  strange  conduct.  "  Yes,  dear  Ella, 
believe  me,  I  am  indeed  ill.  But  leave  me 
now  •  I  shall  soon  be  better." 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 


285 


The  deep  sigh  which  accompanied  these 
words  betrayed  that  he  himself  placed  no  con- 
fidence in  his  improvement.  From  this  time 
forward  the  child  persecuted  Doctor  Heller 
with  prayers  to  make  her  poor  Theodore  well 
again.  The  Doctor  felt  the  young  man's 
pulse,  and,  after  a  significant  shake  of  the 
head,  he  ordered  him  a  quantity  of  bitter 
drugs,  which  the  patient  regularly  threw  out 
of  the  window.  The  physician,  however,  re- 
marked, after  a  few  days,  that  his  medicine 
had  done  wonders,  and  Theodore  already 
looked  much  better;  an  opinion  in  which  Ella 
and  her  mother  did  not  coincide. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE    VISIT. 

EARLY  in  the  spring,  Madame  von  Her- 
bart  had  received  an  invitation  from  Madame 
von  Carly,  a  friend  of  her  youth,  who  owned 
a  beautiful  country-seat  several  miles  distant 
from  the  city,  to  bring  Ella,  and  spend  a  few 
days  with  her  in  the  country.  Madame  von 
Herbart  had  declined  the  invitation,  because 
she  was  averse  to  leaving  her  home  and  her 
aged  father,  who,  during  her  absence,  would 
be  entirely  alone.  In  the  month  of  October, 
when  but  few  fine  days  could  still  be  hoped 
for,  Madame  von  Carly  came  herself  to  the 
city,  to  carry  away  her  friend,  and  would 
listen  to  no  excuses. 

"  You  must  go  with  me,  Maria,"  she  said ; 
"  there  is  no  use  to  say  anything ;  I  will  dine 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  287 

with  you,  and  immediately  after  dinner  you 
will  drive  out  with  me.  Here,  Ella !  come 
here,  rny  child  !  How  tall  you  grow  !  And 
always  in  your  little  white  dresses !  They 
would  look  well  upon  my  children !  I  believe 
five  minutes  would  .be  long  enough  to  change 
them  into  many-colored  garments.  Come 
now,  talk  a  little ;  you  are  as  dumb  as  a 
fish  !  "  She  continued,  rapidly  :  "  Will  you 
not  be  glad  to  go  to  Sergow,  and  see  my 
Louisa,  and  Freddy, 'and  William?  Both 
the  wild  boys  long  to  see  you  ;  they  call  you 
always  their  white  rose,  and  made  me  sol- 
emnly promise  not  to  return  without  you." 

"  But,  my  good  Lina,"  said  Madame  von 
Herbart,  who  had  vainly  striven  until  now  to 
check  this  stream  of  words,  "  perhaps  our 
visit  will  not  be  agreeable  to  your  husband  ?  " 

"  What  an  idea  !  "  cried  Madame  von 
Carly.  "  When  I  invite  you  to  see  me,  it  is 
well  understood,  that  he  will  esteem  it  an 
honor  to  receive  you.  Did  you  never  hear 
the  French  proverb  :  '  Ce  que  femme  veut, 
Dieu  le  veut ! '  *  That  is  the  best  and  most 

*  A  woman's  will,  God's  will. 


288  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 


sensible  one  I  know^pmd  I  never  fail  every 
day  to  make  a  little  sermon  on  this  text. 
But  now,  make,haste  !  Pack  up  your  things, 
whatever  you  may  require,  and  let  us  dine 
early,  that  we  may  soon  be  off.  The  ground 
in  the  city  burns  under  my  feet.  I  should  die 
if  I  were  forced  to  live  here  a  week  ;  I  always 
feel  as  if  I  could  not  draw  a  free  breath  until 
I  am  beyond  the  gates.  —  But  I  had  almost 
forgotten.  How  is  your  father,  Maria?  The 
last  time  I  saw  him,  I  did  not  feel  so  pleasant- 
ly as  usual  in  his  society.  J'his  eternal  talk 
about  war  and  battles,  glorious  sieges  and 
new  taxes,  seems  to  have  thrown  a  black 
veil  over  his  cheerful  humor.  He,  too,  must 
go  with  us  to  Sergow ;  one  week  with  us, 
and  the  blues  would  soon  be  driven  out  of 
him.  But  where  is  the  old  gentleman  ?  I 
would  like  myself  to  make  the  proposition 
to  him." 

"  He  is  not  at  home,"  replied  Madame  von 
Herbart,  "  and  I  do  not  expect  him  in  less 
than  two  hours.  My  poor  father  is  now  very 
busy;  he  has  so  many  cares,  and  so  much 
trouble,  that  we  must  not  wonder  if  he  some- 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  289 


times   looks   rather   seriou?.      He   could   not 
^^•H 

possibly  leave  the  city,  and  you  would  only 
embarrass  him  were  yon  Jyrovite  him,  for 
he  always  finds  difficulty  in  saying  '  No.' 
Please  do  me  the  favojiArfJt  to  attack  the 
old  gentleman.  Be  good  npw,  Lina,"  begged 
she,  in  her  most  persuasive  tones ;  "  prom- 
ise me  that,  and  I  will  go  with  you,  and 
remain  three  days,  although  it  will  be  very 
hard  for  me  to  leave  my  poor  father  so  long 
alone." 

"  Good  !  So  let  it  be  !  "  said  Madame  von 
Carly,  after  a  moment's  hesitation.  "  You 
see  I  am  a  good-natured  fool,  and  am  always 
so  easily  persuaded.  But  now  go  and  make 
your  arrangements.  Ella  will  entertain  me 
during  your  absence." 

Madame  von  Herbart  left  the  room,  wish- 
ing heartily  that  the  three  days  were  over. 
She  dreaded  the  visit,  for  her  friend's  impetu- 
osity and  excitable  temper  always  inspired 
her  with  a  certain  fear.  She  was  never  more 
polite  or  more  considerate  of  her  words  than 
when  with  Madame  von  Carly,  but  she  never 
felt  herself  more  helpless,  or  more  restrained 

25 


290  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

in  her  freedom  of  both  thought  and  action, 
than  when  in  that  lady's  company. 

She  feared  still  more  for  her  daughter  than 
for  herself,  and  would  willingly  have  spared 
Ella  the  three  days'  torment.  Since  her 
brother's  death,  the  little  girl  had  lost  all 
desire  to  play  with  other  children,  and,  al- 
though she  was  very  patient  and  yielding, 
willingly  enduring  any  annoyance  for  her 
mother's  sake,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
make  friends  with  Madame  von  Carly's  wild 
slips,  as  she  herself  called  her  children,  and 
always  cheerfully  to  endure  the  pranks  which 
the  little  pests  were  continually  playing  upon 
her. 

While  Madame  von  Herbart  was  packing 
dp,  and  at  the  same  time  wondering  over  the 
peculiar  mode  of  education  practised  by  her 
friend,  —  whose  rude,  uncultured  nature  could 
not  endure  that  a  child  should  be  taught  to 
say  "Good  morning,"  and  "Thank  you,"  — 
Theodore  entered. 

"  Are  you  going  away  ?  "  he  asked,  hastily, 
pointing  to  the  half-filled  travelling-bag.  "And 
Ella,  too  ?  " 


THR   RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  291 

He  spoke  these  words  with  a  strange  eager- 
ness, and  as  Madame  von  Herbart  replied  with 
an  affirmative  nod,  he  seemed  to  be  almost 
glad  at  this  intelligence,  for  a  burning  red 
flushed  his  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  glowed:  a 
moment  later,  all  these  signs  of  satisfaction 
had  vanished.  He  grew  very  pale,  and  his 
voice  trembled  as  he  asked :  "  Are  you  really 
going  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  Theodore ! "  replied  Madame 
von  Herbart,  quietly ;  "  to-day,  in  a  few  hours. 
It  seems  strange  to  you,  because  you  have 
seen  how  seldom  I  leave  the  house ;  and  I 
only  go  now  because  I  cannot  avoid  it.  But," 
she  added,  smiling,  "the  whole  journey  will 
only  last  three  days ;  on  Thursday  evening  I 
shall  be  again  at  home,  and  will  be  very  glad 
to  find  you  much  better  than  I  leave  you." 

Theodore  made  no  answer;  he  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  heart,  as  if  he  felt  a  sharp  pain, 
then  slowly  turned  away,  and  left  the  room. 

He  did  not  appear  at  dinner,  immediately 
after  which  the  carriage  was  announced,  and 
Madame  von  Carly  hastened  her  friend's  de- 
parture. Ella  most  tenderly  embraced  her  old 


292  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

grandfather.  "  Will  you  think  of  me,  grand- 
father?" she  asked,  lovingly.  "You  must 
often  think  of  me  whilst  I  am  away ;  but  do 
not  be  sad,  for  I  will  soon  return,  and  bring 
you  something  very  pretty.  —  But  where  is 
Theodore?"  she  cried,  looking  round  in  sur- 
prise ;  "  I  almost  believe  he  would  let  us  de- 
part without  saying  '  Farewell.'  Naughty 
Theodore!  I  will  not  love  him  any  more." 

Apparently  to  prove  the  truth  of  her  last 
words,  she  ran  to  the  door  of  the  young  man's 
room,'  opened  it  a  little,  and  called  in,  softly : 
"  Theodore !  dear  Theodore !  are  you  asleep  ? 
O  do  come  out!  We  are  going  now." 

"  Already !  "  was  the  answer ;  "  so  soon !  " 
A  moment  after,  the  door  was  thrown  open, 
and  the  young  man  stood  before  the  startled 
child,  pale  as  death,  and  so  agitated  that  Ella 
drew  back  half  in  fear.  «  Ella !  Ella ! "  he 
cried,  in  a  voice  of  the  deepest  anguish.  He 
then  bent  down  to  the  little  one,  and  pressed 
her  so  tightly  to  his  beating  heart  that  she 
uttered  a  faint  scream.  Not  heeding,  or  in- 
deed seeming  to  hear  this,  he  led  her  into  the 
adjoining  apartment,  placed  her  on  the  sofa, 


THE.    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  293 

knelt  at  her  feet,  and,  stroking  back  the  curls 
from  her  brow,  looked  long  and  earnestly  into 
her  dark  eyes.  They  seemed  to  possess  for 
him  a  magnetic  power,  so  fixed  and  immova- 
ble was  his  gaze.  The  life  appeared  to  be 
gradually  leaving  his  frame,  and  he  remained 
thus  bowed  and  motionless  until  he  was 
aroused  from  his  lethargy  by  a  loud  call  of 
"Ella!  Ella!" 

"  I  must  go ! "  cried  the  child,  springing 
up.  "Did  you  not  hear  my  mother  calling 
me?" 

"  O,  only  one  minute  longer ! "  begged  The 
odore.  He  seized  a  knife,  cut  off  one  of  Ella's 
long  silken  curls,  and,  hastily  concealing  his 
prize,  embraced  her  again,  and  held  her  so  fast 
that  she  could  not  escape.  He  kissed  her 
hands  repeatedly ;  great  tears  streamed  slowly 
down  his  cheeks,  and  a  few  broken  words  es- 
caped his  lips.  Again  was  heard  the  voice  of 
Madame  von  Herbart.  "  Ella ! "  she  said,  in 
a  tone  of  gentle  reproach,  "  did  you  not  hear 
me  call  you  ?  " 

"Ah!  indeed  I  could  not  come,"  replied 
the  child,  raising  her  eyes,  as  if  imploring  par- 

25  » 


294  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

don,  to  her  mother's  face,  "  Theodore  held  me 
so  fast!" 

The  arm  which  had  so  tightly  held  her  re- 
laxed, and  she  was  again  free.  The  young 
Russian's  eyes  were  fixed,  as  if  on  vacancy ; 
he  turned  towards  Madame  von  Herbart, 
knelt  at  her  feet,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
burning  brow. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean,  Theodore  ?  "  she 
asked,  surprised  and  alarmed ;  "  your  head 
burns,  and  you  are  fearfully  excited.  You 
are  certainly  more  unwell  than  you  have  per- 
mitted us  to  think  you.  Speak,  I  pray  you, 
and  relieve  our  anxiety.  Is  it  bodily  illness 
alone  which  has  thus  overcome  you  ?  " 

Theodore  looked  at  his  benefactress;  he 
heard  her  words,  but  they  bore  no  meaning  to 
him.  He  again  pressed  her  hand  convulsive- 
ly ;  he  moved  his  lips  as  if  about  to  speak,  but 
only  uttered  some  inarticulate  sounds.  He 
then  sprang  to  his  feet,  and,  casting  a  long 
and  agonized  look  upon  Ella,  he  hastily  fled 
through  the  open  door,  as  if  he  had  been  pur- 
sued by  evil  spirits. 

Madame  von  Herbart  shook  her  head  sadly, 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  295 

as  she  turned  to  leave  the  room.  Uneasy  and 
oppressed,  she  entered  the  carriage  with  Ella, 
where  her  friend,  who  had  been  long  waiting 
for  her,  received  her  with  open  reproaches. 

"  One  would  think  you  were  going  to  make 
a  voyage  round  the  world,"  said  Madame  von 
Carly,  sulkily,  "  you  make  such  a  fuss  about 
going  a  hundred  paces  from  your  own  door. 
Such  lamentable  parting  scenes  always  seem 
very  comical  to  me,  especially  when  the  long 
separation  which  has  occasioned  so  many 
tears  is  to  last  three  whole  days!  Your  fa- 
ther will  not  die  if  he  does  not  see  you  until 
Thursday,  and  the  young  Russian  can  live  till 
then  without  your  care.  What  a  useless  bur- 
den you  have  laid  upon  your  shoulders !  I  cer- 
tainly should  not  have  acted  so,  had  I  been 
in  your  place.  It  is  sheer  folly  to  waste  so 
much  kindness  and  sympathy  upon  a  wild 
foreigner,  who,  I  am  quite  sure,  laughs  in  his 
sleeve  at  all  you  have  done  for  him,  and  will 
reward  you  by  the  most  shameful  ingratitude. 
And  an  enemy  of  your  country,  too, — a  Rus- 
sian! It  frightens  me  only  to  hear  one 
named.  I  would  not  give  a  Russian  a  glass 
of  water  to  save  his  life !  " 


296  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

"  O,  do  not  say  so !  "  replied  Madame  vo* 
Herbart,  earnestly.  "  If  I  had  not  known  you 
so  many  years,  I  might  at  this  moment  doubt 
your  good  heart ; .  indeed,  such  sentiments 
would  induce  any  one  to  believe  you  pitiless 
and  unfeeling.  Before  offering  assistance  to 
the  suffering,  must  we  then  ask,  Who  are 
you  ?  "What  is  your  creed  ?  or,  In  what  coun- 
try were  you  born  ?  —  I  am  really  sorry  to  hear 
such  words  from  your  lips,  and  the  more  so 
that  you  are  not  alone  in  your  prejudices 
against  the  Russians ;  they  are  shared  by 
nearly  all  my  countrymen,  and.  I  cannot  es- 
teem it  an  honor  to  them.  I  will  readily  agree 
that  the  Russians  are  far  behind  the  Prussians 
in  cultivation,  and  even  that  many  may  pos- 
sess the  faults  attributed  to  them ;  but  that 
gives  us  no  right  to  contemn  a  whole  nation. 
It  seems  to  me  there  is  such  self-exaltation 
and  such  pride  in  this  cold,  obstinate  mode  of 
judging,  which  not  only  outrages  reason,  but 
renders  us  forgetful  of  our  duty  as  Christians. 
We  should  certainly  esteem  our  fellow-men 
innocent,  until  they  have  given  us  proofs  to 
the  contrary.— Theodore  ungrateful!"  she 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  297 

continued,  after  a  moment's  pause  ;  "  O,  if  he 
could  be  so,  where  should  we  seek  for  truth 
and  faith  among  men  ?  If  his  candid  face  be 
that  of  a  hypocrite ;  if  his  voice,  apparently 
tremulous  with  excess  of  gratitude  and  feel- 
ing, could  speak  words  of  falsehood  and 
treachery,  in  whom  could  we  confide  ?  No ! 
no !  it  is  not  possible.  So  fair  a  form  could 
not  conceal  so  black  a  soul !  " 

Madame  von  Herbart  had  spoken  more  ve- 
hemently than  was  her  usual  custom,  and  her 
cheeks  glowed,  for  she  felt  herself  wounded 
and  misjudged.  What  she  considered  as  a 
sacred  duty  towards  her  fellow-men,  had  been 
regarded  as  the  foolish  simplicity  of  a  weak 
good-nature  ;  and  one  whom  daily  intercourse, 
and  the  apparent  candor  and  excellence  of  his 
character,  had  rendered  dear  to  her  heart,  had 
been  assailed  by  the  most  injurious  suspicions. 

In  a  few  moments,  however,  she  regained 
her  tranquillity,  and  said,  gently :  "  Even  if 
you  have  judged  rightly,  and  Theodore  could 
be  ungrateful,  we  will  never  regret  what  we 
have  done  for  him:  the  hope  of  thanks  was 
not  our  motive.  Truly,  neither  my  father, 


298 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 


my  daughter,  nor  myself  had  any  thought  of 
earthly  reward  when  we  opened  our  house 
and  our  hearts  to  the  poor,  forsaken,  wounded 
Russian.  But  perhaps  we  had  better  say  no 
more  about  it." 

"  Well,  well !  "  replied  Madame  von  Carly, 
hastily,  "  as  you  please ;  I  am  sure  it  is  quite 
indifferent  to  me." 

Thus  saying,  she  leaned  back  in  one  comer 
of  the  carriage,  and  began  to  count  the  trees 
by  the  way-side.  Her  friend,  however,  soon 
succeeded  in  diverting  her  from  this  rather 
uninteresting  occupation.  She  asked  con- 
cerning the  harvests;  whether  her  dairy  had 
been  productive  this  year ;  and  if  her  garden 
had  yielded  her  as  much  as  usual. 

Madame  von  Carly  was  a  notable  house- 
keeper, and  entered  minutely  into  all  the  de- 
tails of  her  household  economy,  and  the  man- 
agement of  her  farm.  She  talked  much,  and, 
on  this  subject,  knowingly.  Her  servants  were 
all  discussed,  from  her  own  maid  to  the  lowest 
scullion ;  and,  from  her  account,  seemed  to  be 
endless  sources  of  trouble,  through  their  igno- 
rance, stupidity,  or  evil  dispositions. 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  299 

Madame  von  Herbart  listened  most  pa- 
tiently, only  now  and  then  endeavoring  to  in- 
terpose a  word  in  exculpation  of  the  frailties 
of  human  nature,  and  by  the  time  they  reached 
Sergow  her  friend  was  again  quite  reconciled 
with  her,  and  in  the  best  of  humors.  It  was, 
indeed,  no  easy  task  to  maintain  this  good 
understanding  unbroken  during  three  whole 
days;  but  Madame  von  Herbart  succeeded 
better  than  she  had  anticipated.  On  Thurs- 
day afternoon,  as  she  was  making  her  prepa- 
rations for  returning  home  with  Ella,  Madame 
von  Carly  could  not  conceal  her  emotion,  and 
said,  as  she  bade  her  farewell :  "  Indeed,  I  do 
not  understand  how  it  is  that  I  love  you  so 
well.  You  can  do  what  you  please  with  me ; 
I  may  sometimes  be  a  little  hasty,  but  I  can 
never  long  feel  angry  with  you." 

She  then  kissed  Ella  affectionately,  gave 
her  a  basket  of  fine  fruit  for  her  grandfather, 
and  a  bunch  of  those  tiny  roses,  whose  bril- 
liant coloring;  and  the  late  season  at  which 
they  bloom,  render  so  precious  in  the  autumn 
to  all  lovers  of  flowers. 

"  I  will  give  two  roses  to  grandfather,"  said 


300  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

the  child  to  her  mother,  when  they  were  again 
upon  the  public  road,  "  and  two  to  Theodore. 
How  glad  he  will  be  !  He  is  so  fond  of  flow- 
ers, especially  of  roses." 

She  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words,  when 
a  sudden  wind  swept  over  her  beautiful  blos- 
soms, and  scattered  all  their  tender  leaves. 

"  Ah !  "  sighed  Ella,  "  my  joy  is  soon  over ! 
If  my  old  nurse  had  seen  that,  she  would 
have  said  that  it  boded  no  good.  But  you 
have  taught  me  not  to  heed  such  omens." 

"  And  yet  this  time,"  replied  the  mother, 
"  your  old  Catherine  would  not  have  been 
quite  wrong ;  for  this  first  rude  blast  is  but 
the  forerunner  of  many  storms  which  are  to 
follow  soon  ;  winter  will  soon  be  here,  and 
you  know  your  good  grandfather  is  never  so 
well  when  the  weather  is  cold." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Ella,  clapping  her  hands,  "  I 
see  the  city  towers,  and  even  some  of  the 
houses !  There  is  the  great  tree  in  our  gar- 
den ! " 

She  was  so  delighted  at  this  discovery,  that 
she  wished  to  leave  the  carriage  and  walk, 
fancying  she  could  thus  sooner  reach  her  be- 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  301 

loved  home.  Finally  they  stopped  before  the 
door,  and  Ella  sprang  joyfully  into  the  old 
servant's  arms.  Atlas  welcomed  her  with 
every  sign  of  delight.  "  Aha,  my  good  doggy, 
did  you  miss  me,  too?"  she  cried,  stroking  his 
shaggy  coat. 

The  great  dog  leaped  up,  and  placed  both 
paws  on  her  shoulders,  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  free  herself.  Then  quickly  running 
up  the  steps,  she  was  greeted  by  the  burgo- 
master, who  tenderly  folded  his  beloved  grand- 
child to  his  heart. 

"  God  be  thanked ! "  he  cried,  embracing 
his  daughter.  He  then  led  both  his  dear  ones 
into  his  room,  whence  gratefully  streamed  the 
inviting  perfumes  of  the  coffee  he  had  had 
prepared  for  them.  They  soon  laid  aside 
their  wrappings. 

"  But  where  is  Theodore  ?  "  was  Ella's  first 
question. 

"  Is  he  better  ?  "  added  Madame  von  Her- 
bart,  anxiously. 

"  By  and  by  you  can  judge  for  yourselves," 
replied  the  old  man  slowly. 

Ella  again  embraced  her  grandfather,  ca- 
20 


302  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

ressing  him  as  if  she  had  been  many  months 
away  from  him.  She  placed  his  great  arm- 
chair near  the  table,  arranged  the  cushions, 
and,  seating  herself  upon  his  knee,  began  the 
narration  of  all  her  adventures.  While  her 
clear  eyes  gazed  into  his  face,  she  remarked 
the  downcast  appearance  of  the  old  man,  who 
seemed  to  have  no  relish  for  his  little  grand- 
child's prattle,  to  which  he  usually  listened 
with  such  delight. 

"  Just  see  now,  mother !  "  cried  the  child  in 
a  tragi-comic  tone  of  voice,  "  does  not  grand- 
father look  to-day  exactly  like  the  upper  bai- 
liff, when  the  hail  spoiled  his  best  rye-field  ?  " 

Madame  von  Herbart  looked  up  as  she 
handed  her  father  his  cup,  and  was  startled 
by  the  sorrowful  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  father  ?  "  she 
cried,  hastening  to  his  side.  "  Has  anything 
disagreeable  happened  ?  O,  do  tell  me 
quickly ! " 

"  It  is  nothing,  my  daughter ! "  answered 
the  burgomaster,  endeavoring  to  soothe  her ; 
"  several  little  circumstances  have  transpired, 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  303 

which  have  somewhat  disturbed  my  equa- 
nimity." 

"  And  am  I  not  to  know  what  has  troubled 
you  ?  " 

"  Wherefore  not,  my  child  ?  You  must 
learn  them  some  time,  and  perhaps  it  would 
be  better  to  do  so  at  once.  You  know  I  hate 
all  useless  secrecy  and  mysteries.  Listen, 
then.  Our  king  was  defeated  on  the  13th ; 
the  news  came  yesterday,  and  has  been  con- 
firmed to-day.  He  has  been  forced  to  pay 
dearly  for  his  unhappy  obstinacy.  All  his 
generals  warned  and  implored  him  to  leave 
the  camp  which  he  occupied  on  the  heights  of 
Hochkirch.  But  he  would  not  be  persuaded ; 
he  could  not  be  induced  to  quit  his  danger- 
ous position,  although  it  was  within  gunshot 
of  the  enemy,  because  he  did  not  think  the 
Austrians  would  venture  to  attack  him.  The 
consequence  was,  that,  on  the  night  of  the 
13th,  the  crafty  Daun  left  his  intrenchments 
as  noiselessly  as  possible,  and  surrounded 
the  sleeping  Prussians.  The  watchful  Zie- 
then,  who  had  anticipated  such  a  step,  was 
ready  to  receive  him,  fully  armed,  with  all 


304  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

his  men.  The  others  were  soon  aroused,  and 
assembled  as  best  they  could  in  the  darkness 
of  the  night.  All  must  allow  that  great  order 
arid  discipline  reign  in  our  army,  and  thus, 
although  compelled  to  abandon  their  position, 
they  performed  prodigies  of  valor,  and  the 
enemy  did  not  dare  to  follow  them.  But  they 
were  forced  to  leave  all  their  baggage  behind 
them,  and  many  a  brave  fellow  lost  his  life. 
The  noble  Keith  and  Franz  of  Brunswick  are 
both  dead." 

"  Well,  father,"  said  Madame  von  Herbart 
consolingly,  "  we  must  rejoice  that  the  king  is 
still  alive.  If  he  has  this  time  been  unfortu- 
nate through  his  own  fault,  he  will  soon  be 
able  to  retrieve  his  losses.  —  But  what  sad 
news  have  you  still  to  tell  us?  I  can  see  that 
you  have  not  yet  unburdened  your  heart." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  the  burgomaster 
reluctantly ;  "  and  what  I  have  to  tell  you  will 
distress  the  child  even  more  than  it  does  you. 
If  my  little  Ella  will  only  be  reasonable,  she 
will  see  that  it  was  inevitable ;  I  have  often 
tried  to  prepare  her  mind  for  it.  Theodore 
has  gone  away !  You  will  never  see  him 
again ! " 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  305 

"  Theodore  gone  !  "  cried  Ella,  "  that  is  im- 
possible !  O  tell  me,  grandfather,  you  are 
surely  jesting!  Is  it  not  so?  You  only  want 
to  tease  me  a  little." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  and  said:  "  He 
left  our  house  secretly  yesterday  evening." 

Ella  wept  quietly. 

"  He  is  ungrateful,  too,  then  !  "  sighed  Ma- 
dame von  Herbart,  "  and  Lina  was  right.  I 
never  could  have  believed  that  he  would  have 
deceived  us !  " 

"  Do  not  blame  him,"  replied  the  burgo- 
master; "  I  cannot  condemn  him.  I  had  long 
observed  the  inward  struggle  which  was  so 
clearly  depicted  in  his  countenance.  Believe 
me,  he  suffered  greatly  in  being  forced  to 
leave  us." 

Thus  saying,  he  drew  a  letter  and  a  small 
package  from  his  pocket,  which  he  gave  to  his 
daughter,  adding:  "There,  take  them!  I  found 
them  both  upon  my  bed  when  I  awoke  this 
morning.  He  must  have  placed  them  there 
himself,  for  I  remember  distinctly  that  some 
one  kissed  my  hand  several  times  when  I  was 
in  a  state  between  sleeping  and  waking.  The 

26" 


306  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

action  aroused  me ;  but  when  I  looked  up,  all 
was  quiet,  and  I  thought  it  must  have  been  a 
dream." 

Madame  von  Herbart  silently  took  the  let- 
ter and  broke  the  seal ;  she  read  and  read, 
and  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  finish  it.  Her 
hand  trembled,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
Ella  glided  behind  her  chair,  and  looked  over 
her  shoulder ;  but  in  vain  did  she  wipe  her 
eyes,  she  could  not  distinguish  a*  syllable. 

"O  dear  mother!"  she  cried,  "read  it  aloud; 
I  can  see  nothing,  and  I  would  so  like  to 
know  if  he 'thought  of  me." 

The  mother  read  as  follows :  — 

"  I  can  no  longer  remain  in  a  house  in 
which,  after  so  many  stormy  days,  I  had 
again  found  peace,  and  felt  so  happy.  My 
father's  brother,  who  is  the  general  of  the  di- 
vision of  the  Russian  army  to  which  I  belong, 
has  learned  my  wonderful  escape,  and  discov- 
ered my  retreat.  He  has  secretly  sent  me  an 
order  to  join  him  as  soon  as  my  wounds  would 
permit;  and  as  a  soldier  I  must  obey,  although 
my  heart  bleeds  at  the  sad  necessity. 

f 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  307 

"  How  has  my  poor  heart  already  suffered  . 
How  soon  in  life  was  I  not  forced  to  learn 
that  happiness  is  a  rare  sojourner  among  men. 
I  lost  my  father  before  I  could  lisp  his  dear 
name  ;  of  course  I  was  too  young  to  know 
the  loss  I  had  sustained,  and  the  less,  because 
my  beloved  mother  redoubled  her  care  and 
love  towards  the  poor  orphan  child  who  lay 
so  helpless  in  her  gentle  arms.  The  boy 
clung  to  this  one  stay  with  all  the  passionate 
tenderness  of  his  character ;  his  mother's  eyes 
were  the  stars  which  guided  him  through  the 
labyrinth  of  life;  nothing  could  so  grieve  him 
as  to  see  them  veiled  and  darkened  through 
his  fault.  But  he  was  forced  with  the  deep- 
est sorrow  to  see  that  the  brightness  of  his 
stars  was  fading.  His  mother's  cheek  be- 
came ever  more  and  more  transparent,  the 
words  which  fell  from  her  pale  lips  grew 
fainter  and  weaker,  her  wearied  feet  refused 
to  bear  the  light  weight  of  her  frail  figure, 
and  finally  —  O  Heaven!  how  was  it  possi- 
ble that  I  survived  her  death  ? 

"  Men  say  of  many  a  bitter  sorrow,  that  it  is 
unendurable ;  and  yet  I  have  lived  through 


308  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

the  deepest  anguish.  I  know  no  pang  of 
which  it  may  be  truly  said,  that  no  one  has 
ever  borne  it,  —  that  all  efforts  are  in  vain,  and 
a  speedy  death  the  sole  refuge.  And  thus 
will  I  strive  to  overcome  the  agony  which 
now  rends  my  heart. 

"  Farewell,  honored  lady,  in  whom  I  have 
found  the  image  of  my  lost  mother  so  vividly 
renewed.  Your  gentle  voice  will  ever  echo 
through  my  soul.  Nothing  can  efface  from 
my  memory  the  kindness  with  which  you 
have  overwhelmed  a  stranger,  and  an  enemy 
to  your  native  land  ;  the  remembrance  will  be 
most  dear  to  me  so  long  as  I  shall  live. 

"  And  you,  my  little  Ella,  who  would  not 
suffer  the  glance  of  a  poor  wounded  man,  be- 
seeching you  for  aid  and  compassion,  to  pass 
unheeded,  and  who  have  so  often  prayed  to 
God  for  his  recovery,  —  how  could  I  ever  for- 
get you?  You  can  scarcely  comprehend  how 
two  whole  nations  caji  feel  so  bloodthirstily 
towards  one  another,  how  their  murderous 
rage  can  exceed  that  of  wild  beasts,  and  all 
because  their  rulers  disagree.  You  will  shud- 
der when  you  hear  that  I  have  again  entered 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  309 

the  ranks  of  that  army  so  hated  by  your  coun- 
trymen; but  I  am  sure  that  you  will  shed  more 
than  one  tear  for  the  sake  of  one  to  whom 
the  memory  of  the  happy  days  passed  near 
you  is  so  precious.  I  have  but  one  request  to 
make,  and  that  is,  that  you  will  always  wear 
the  little  cross  which  accompanies  this  letter. 
My  mother  hung  it  round  my  neck  when  I 
was  a  child,  since  when  I  have  kept  and  worn 
it  as  a  sacred  relic.  Whenever  your  eyes  fall 
upon  it,  remember  your  own  kindness  and 
my  gratitude. 

"  And  what  will  you  say,  my  venerable  ben- 
efactor, when,  in  the  morning,  instead  of  me, 
you  will  only  find  this  letter  ?  Will  you  con- 
demn my  conduct  ?  I  must  see  you  once 
more,  and  again  press  my  lips  upon  your 
hand !  Once  more  will  I  give  free  vent  to 
my  feelings,  and  then  must  I  stifle  my  emo- 
tions, be  again  a  man,  and  fearlessly  bare  my 
breast  to  the  blows  of  fate. 

«  Farewell ! 

"  THEODORE." 

.A  deep  stillness  reigned  in  the  little  circle, 


310 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 


only  broken  by  Ella's  faint  sobs.  The  old 
burgomaster  also  dried  a  quiet  tear. 

"And  that  was  a  Russian!"  he  cried  finally, 
rising  to  hide  his  emotion. 

Madame  von  Herbart  opened  the  package  ; 
it  contained  a  fine  gold  chain,  to  which  was 
suspended  a  cross  of  the  same  metal.  She 
hung  it  silently  round  her  daughter's  neck, 
and  Ella  found  upon  her  mother's  bosom  a 
free  place  to  weep  out  all  her  sorrow. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

GRATITUDE. 

Two  years  had  passed ;  the  war  still  con- 
tinued, and  the  position  of  the  Prussian  king 
had  not  altered  for  the  better.  Many  of  his 
bravest  officers  and  best  generals  lay  dead 
upon  the  battle-field,  or  were  captives  in  the 
enemy's  hands.  Gold  and  men  were  both 
becoming  scarce,  and  still  no  prospect  of 
peace.  But  Frederick  never  thought  of  yield- 
ing; he  had  determined  to  conquer  or  perish 
in  the  attempt.  His  people  felt  with  him, 
and  each  Prussian  looked  with  confidence  up 
to  his  king.  All  thought  that  their  sovereign 
would  find  some  means  of  extricating  himself 
with  honor  from  the  unequal  struggle.  His- 
tory teaches  us  that  this  belief  was  well 
founded,  for  nothing  could  have  been  more 


312  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

surprising  and  favorable  to  Frederick,  than 
the  final  conclusion  of  the  seven  years'  war. 

On  the  1st  of  August,  1759,  Frederick  lost 
a  battle  upon  the  heights  of  Kunersdorf.  Not- 
withstanding the  personal  danger  which  he 
had  himself  incurred,  and  the  loss  of  many 
of  his  bravest  men,  the  allied  Russians  and 
Austrians  obtained  a  complete  victory.  Kleist, 
the  renowned  poet,  whose  verses  breathe  the 
most  tender  and  gentle  feelings,  gave  the  high- 
est proof  of  his  courage  by  the  sacrifice  of 
his  life.  No  death  among  the  many  which 
marked  that  bloody  day  excited  more  sym- 
pathy than  his ;  and  the  Russians,  among 
whom  he  had  fallen,  honored  his  memory  by 
a  solemn  funeral.  A  Russian  officer  laid  his 
own  sabre  upon  the  hero's  coffin,  saying : 
"  Such  a  man  should  not  be  buried  without  a 
sword ! " 

The  allies  succeeded  in  gaining  possession 
of  Berlin,  where  a  citizen  named  Gotkowski 
distinguishecWiimself  by  the  sacrifice  of  nearly 
all  his  private  fortune  in  the  service  of  his 
fellow-citizens.  Experience  soon  taught  the 
Prussians  that  their  neighbors,  the  Saxons, 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  313 

were  much  more  to  be  feared,  as  far  as  cruelty 
and  the  destruction  of  personal  property  was 
concerned,  than  the  Russians.  They  forgot 
how  Frederick  had  spared  the  treasures  of  art 
in  Saxony ;  and,  entering  his  palaces,  they 
destroyed  everything  which  came  within  their 
reach,  —  furniture,  mirrors,  tapestries,  pictures, 
and  marble  statues. 

The  allies  occupied  Berlin  during  eight 
days.  The  news  then  came  that  Frederick 
was  approaching  the  city  in  person,  and  they 
speedily  left  it  to  join  the  main  body  of  the 
army,  or  to  seek  security  in  safer  positions. 
Their  course,  however,  was  everywhere  marked 
by  devastation  and  ruin,  and  woe  to  the  town 
or  village  through  which  their  march  lay. 

One  of  these  detachments  of  Saxons  and 
Austrians,  belonging  to  the  rear,  left  the  high- 
way in  order  to  make  a  predatory  excursion 
upon  the  little  city  already  well  known  to  us. 
Early  in  the  morning,  these  warriors,  who 
were  in  such  haste  to  flee  before  the  coming 
of  Frederick,  poured  through  the  open  gates. 
They  brought  with  them  tumult  and  confu- 

27 


314  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

sion,  plundered  the  houses  indiscriminately, 
and  seemed  determined  to  wash  away  the 
stain  left  upon  their  honor  by  their  hasty  re- 
treat, in  the  blood  of  the  defenceless  citizens. 
On  all  sides  were  heard  the  cries  of  women 
and  children,  mingled  with  rude  imprecations 
and  scornful  laughter. 

They  advanced  farther  and  farther  into  the 
city,  and  had  already  reached  the  market- 
place. 

Doctor  Heller  arrived  breathless  before  the 
grocer's  door,  and  cried  :  "  Aha,  Master  Broth- 
er! here  they  are,  at  last.  You  have  often 
said  that  you  would  rather  permit  a  whole 
regiment  of  Austrians  to  range  through  your 
house,  than  harbor  a  single  Russian; — and 
you  will  now  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
how  gently  they  will  proceed  with  you.  They 
won't  leave  a  tile  upon  your  roof;  I  tell  you, 
they  are  worse  than  Wallenstein's  bands,  who, 
as  you  know,  were  not  remarkable  for  their 
tenderness  and  consideration." 

The  honest  grocer  stood  before  his  brother- 
in-law,  the  very  picture  of  despair.  His  whole 
body  trembled ;  he  pulled  off  his  white  night- 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  315 

cap,  and  cast  a  melancholy  glance  upon  his 
great,  flowered  dressing-gown,  as  if  he  feared 
he  would  soon  be  forced  to  part  from  this  be- 
loved garment.  He  finally  cried  out,  in  a  sti- 
fled voice,  "  Ah,  my  beer !  All  my  beer ! " 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  the  Doctor.  "  Beer  here, 
beer  there,  —  have  you  lost  your  senses? 
Where  is  your  ready  money  ?  Have  you  at 
least  hid  that  ?  " 

The  grocer  shook  his  head,  and  seemed  to 
be  fairly  benumbed,  body  and  mind,  with 
terror. 

"  What  folly ! "  cried  the  Doctor,  angrily. 
"  Quick !  Go  at  once  into  your  house,  and 
throw  it  all  into  the  well.  In  five  minutes  it 
may  be  too  late ! " 

So  saying,  he  led  the  old  man  with  him 
through  the  open  door.  It  was  indeed  full 
time,  for  the  lawless  soldiery  were  rapidly  ap- 
proaching, destroying  all  they  could  not  carry 
away  with  them.  Chairs  and  mirrors,  glass 
and  porcelain,  were  thrown  from  the  windows 
in  every  direction.  The  robbers  fell  upon  all 
the  casks  of  wine  and  brandy  which  they 
could  find,  and  their  potations  only  increased 


316  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

their  fury  and  recklessness.  They  greeted 
with  loud  cries  of  joy  the  fine  stock  of  spirits 
of  all  kinds  which  they  found  in  the  house  of 
our  friend,  the  grocer.  They  knocked  the 
heads  out  of  the  barrels  until  the  whole  cellar 
was  afloat,  and  they  could  almost  have  swum 
in  the  nectar,  which  they  freely  imbibed.  The 
poor  grocer  fled  from  room  to  room  until  he 
reached  the  highest  attic,  whence  he  discov- 
ered with  horror  that  a  thick  smoke  was  be- 
ginning to  rise  from  many  parts  of  the  city, 
and  that  the  inhabitants  were  in  vain  endeav- 
oring to  quench  the  flames. 

Suddenly  the  hoofs  of  a  whole  troop  of 
cavalry  were  heard  upon  the  stone  pavement ; 
and,  swift  as  a  whirlwind,  a  band  of  horsenjen 
rode  past,  with  a  noble-looking  young  leader 
at  their  head.  They  stopped  at  the  market- 
place, dismounted,  and  hastened  into  the 
plundered  dwellings,  driving  out  the  robbers, 
who,  not  yet  comprehending  this  sudden  di- 
version, left  their  prey,  and  fled.  Renewed 
efforts  were  made  to  extinguish  the  flames, 
and  the  citizens  gazed  in  silent  wonder  upon 
their  unexpected  deliverers,  who  were  most 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  317 

actively  engaged  in  rendering  all  the  assist- 
ance in  their  power,  and  were  constantly  en- 
couraged by  their  leader  to  new  efforts. 

No  one  knew  who  the  officer  was.  "  He  is 
no  Prussian ! "  "  He  does  not  speak  German 
with  his  soldiers!"  "How young  he  is!"  And 
"  How  stately  he  looks  upon  his  black  steed ! " 
Such  exclamations  were  heard  upon  all  sides, 
interrupted  by  the  questions :  "  But  who  is 
he?  "  "  Whence  comes  he  ?  "  "  Does  no  one 
know  him  ?  " 

The  young  officer  gave  no  heed  to  the  curi- 
ous glances  everywhere  turned  upon  him ;  he 
forced  his  way  with  considerable  difficulty 
through  the  crowd,  and  finally  stood  before 
the  burgomaster's  door.  He  sprang  from  his 
horse,  threw  the  bridle  to  one  of  his  attend- 
ants, and,  hastening  up  the  steps,  entered  the 
open  door,  —  already  filled  with  the  brutal  sol- 
diery laden  with  booty.  He  scarcely  saw 
them,  but  hurried  on,  and  soon  reached  Ma- 
dame von  Herbart's  room,  where  he  found  no 
one,  but  was  horrified  at  the  devastation.  The 
windows  were  broken,  the  curtains  lay  torn 
upon  the  floor,  the  furniture  was  scattered  in 

27* 


318  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

every  direction,  and  the  drawers  and  closets 
all  rifled.  He  opened  a  second  and  a  third 
door:  everywhere  he  found  the  same  waste 
and  desolation,  but  not  a  living  creature. 
Pausing,  at  length,  uncertain  which  way  to 
turn,  a  faint,  half-stifled  cry  for  help  fell  upon 
his  ear:  "Mother!  O  mother!  save  me!  He 
will  kill  me ! " 

"  Ella,  I  come ! "  cried  the  young  man.  He 
hurried  through  several  halls  and  apartments. 
But  one  more  door  divided  him  from  that  im- 
ploring voice ;  he  flung  it  open,  and  stood  an 
instant  as  if  petrified.  He  found  himself  in 
the  once  charming  little  cabinet;  but  how 
looked  it?  The  chairs  were  in  pieces,  the 
writing-table  overturned ;  books  and  papers 
were  scattered  upon  the  floor,  mingled  with 
flasks  of  wine,  some  broken,  others  half  emp- 
tied, and  the  carpet,  which  had  been  in  many 
places  wantonly  cut  and  torn,  dripping  with 
the  contents.  Amid  these  wrecks,  a  young 
maiden  knelt  before  a  great,  bearded  soldier, 
whose  left  hand  had  seized  upon  her  long,  dark 
locks,  while  his  right  held  a  loaded  pistol. 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  chain  ? "  cried  the 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 


319 


soldier  at  this  moment,  not  having  observed 
the  entrance  of  the  stranger ;  "  I  ask  you  for 
the  last  time.  You  have  hid  all  your  gold  and 
silver,  like  rascals  as  you  are.  We  find  noth- 
ing that  can  be  of  any  use  to  us.  Give  me 
the  chain  at  once,  or  I  will  shoot  you  down! " 

"  O  leave  me  the  chain ! "  implored  the 
maiden,  looking  up  with  tearful  eyes  into  the 
monster's  face;  "you  have  taken  everything 
from  us!  I  cannot  give  you  the  cross, — it  is 
a  dear  remembrance." 

A  loud  bark  from  a  dog  was  heard  before 
the  garden  door.  The  rude  soldier  hastily 
loosed  his  grasp  from  the  hair,  and  seized 
upon  the  gold  chain  which  had  excited  his 
cupidity,  that  he  might  tear  it  from  the  young 
girl's  neck.  He  suddenly  felt  himself  thrust 
back,  and  a  voice  cried  in  his  ear :  "  Hold, 
you  wretch!  You  shall  not  lay  the  end  of 
your  finger  upon  her ! " 

A  swift  sabre-stroke  gleamed  through  the 
air,  and  cleft  the  Austrian's  skull.  But  at  the 
same  moment  a  loud  report  was  heard,  and 
the  young  officer  fell  mortally  wounded  upon 
the  floor.  »  Ella ! "  he  cried,  "  Ella ! " 


820  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

"Theodore!"  exclaimed  the  maiden,  who 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice  had  sprung  to  her 
feet.  Uttering  a  loud  cry,  she  threw  herself 
upon  the  prostrate  form  of  the  friend  whom 
she  had  recognized,  and  whose  warm  blood 
streamed  over  her  dress. 

At  this  moment,  Madame  von  Herbart  and 
her  father  rushed  into  the  room.  "  Ella ! " 
cried  the  mother,  joyfully,  as  her  eye  fell  upon 
her  child ;  "  O  God  be  thanked !  I  was  in 
despair,  when  I  could  find  you  nowhere." 

But  Ella  made  no  answer. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  asked  the  anxious  moth- 
er ;  "  your  clothes  are  covered  with  blood ! " 
So  saying,  she  sank  half  fainting  by  her 
daughter's  side. 

"By  whom  are  you  kneeling,  Ella?"  said 
the  old  burgomaster,  who  had  by  this  time 
come  quite  near. 

"  It  is  Theodore,  our  Theodore !  "  sobbed 
the  young  girl,  in  a  voice  of  despair. 

"  Yes,  it  is  Theodore,  your  Theodore,"  re- 
peated the  young  man,  endeavoring  to  rise. 
"  He  wished  to  see  you  yet  once  more.  Holy 
angels  guided  his  steps,  —  and  he  came  in 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  321 

time.  O,"  he  continued,  with  a  failing  voice, 
kissing  the  hand  with  which  Madame  von 
Herbart  sustained  his  head,  "  O,  how  happy 
I  feel  now !  I  know  that  I  am  dying,  but  I 
have  been  enabled  to  show  you  my  gratitude  : 
I  have  preserved  your  native  city!  I  have 
saved  your  child ! "  He  paused  an  instant,  as 
if  exhausted,  and  then  said,  "  Ella,  your 
hand!" 

The  maiden  placed  it  within  his  own,  and 
he  pressed  it  convulsively. 

"  Think  of  me  often ! "  he  continued ;  "  and 
believe  me,  even  the  Russian  has  a  heart, 
which  guards  the  memory  of  past  benefits  — 
until  it  breaks !  " 

His  head  sank ;  his  eyes  were  fixed  ;  he  ut- 
tered one  last  sigh,  and  his  soul  had  fled. 

"  He  is  dead !  "  said  Madame  von  Herbart, 
after  a  few  moments  of  deep  silence.  She 
wept  bitterly ;  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had 
lost  a  member  of  her  own  family. 

Ella's  sorrow  was  unspeakable.  Nothing 
could  convince  her  that  Theodore  was  really 
dead.  Even  when  Dr.  Heller  came  and  ex- 
amined his  wounds,  assuring  them  that  the 


322  THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER. 

best  marksman  could  not  have  taken  surer 
aim,  and  that  the  ball  had  pierced  the  young 
Russian's  heart,  she  could  not  entirely  resign 
the  hope  that  he  would  again  awake  from  his 
deep  slumber.  She  strove  to  warm  his  cold 
hands,  to  breathe  new  life  into  his  rigid  frame. 
All  her  efforts  were  in  vain ;  her  touching 
prayer,  that  he  would  open  his  pale  lips  and 
speak  but  one  single  word  to  her,  remained 
unheard.  They  were  obliged  to  force  her 
with  gentle  violence  from  the  bloody  corpse. 

Theodore's  funeral  was  most  solemn;  old 
and  young  gathered  together  to  join  in  the 
last  procession.  Each  one  shed  a  grateful 
tear  in  his  memory ;  even  the  old  grocer,  Bolt, 
was  seen  following  the  coffin,  deeply  moved. 

A  white  marble  monument  marked  the 
place  of  his  burial.  The  inscription  consisted 
in  the  name,  "  THEODORE  "  ;  and  beneath  were 
carved  these  simple  words,  "  We  meet  again." 
No  flaunting  paragraph  proclaimed  his  deed, 
which  was  more  surely  treasured  in  the  mem- 
ory of  many  a  feeling  and  grateful  heart  than 
it  could  have  been  upon  the  cold  stone. 


THE    RUSSIAN    OFFICER.  323 

Long,  long  years  after  these  occurrences, 
when  Madame  von  Herbart  and  her  father 
rested  quietly  by  the  young  Russian's  side,  a 
tall  female  form  might  often  be  seen  busied 
among  these  graves.  She  adorned  them  with 
fresh  wreaths;  carefully  trained  the  flowers 
she  had  planted  upon  them;  and  when  she 
slowly  turned  to  leave  them,  and  re-enter  her 
solitary  home,  she  would  raise  her  tearful  eyes 
to  heaven,  and  say,  "  We  shall  meet  again, 
my  dear  ones ! " 


THE  END. 


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